Changes in Lattitudes
by WinJennster
Summary: Bobby Singer leaves everything he has to his boys...including a sailboat with a smoking hot Captain! (Based on the 90's Kurt Russell film Captain Ron.) (Wincestiel)
1. Nothing Remains Quite the Same

_Welcome to my Wincestiel 2013 Big Bang. I had a hella lot of fun with this one. It's loosely based on the Kurt Russell movie "Captain Ron". Huge thanks to my beta, Saltandbyrne (on tumblr) and my artist, Kidezt (sassypancakes on tumblr). Feel free to check out my tumblr (Winjennster) to see the artwork, since fanfic dot net won't let us embed pics or links._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_It's these changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes_

_Nothing remains quite the same_

_With all of our running and all of our cunning_

_If we couldn't laugh we would all go insane_

* * *

He doesn't own much. An old ramshackle house full of ancient musty books, a salvage yard full of rusting cars, hell, the land is worth more than anything sitting on it. But he loves those two boys, they are the closest thing he's ever had to sons, and as Bobby Singer signs his Last Will and Testament, he soaks in the deep feeling of peace it gives him.

If nothing else, the boys can sell the land and live off of the earnings.

And Dean will be highly amused by the boat…and the Captain.

* * *

Dean Winchester stands near the funeral pyre of the man he's thought of as his Dad for most of his life. His brother Sam stands next to him, sniffling slightly, ridiculous long hair plastered to his face by the light November drizzle.

They'd never expected it would be something as simple as a heart attack. Not in their line of work.

They are the only mourners. Sioux Falls had written Bobby Singer off as crazy years before, and the boys honestly didn't think the townsfolk would understand the ritual of the salt and burn. He has no family beyond Sam and Dean, and Sam and Dean have no one other than him. Their parents are gone, all of their friends are dead. All Sam and Dean have is each other, and up until three days ago, Bobby.

People that know the Winchester boys know something is off, although they can never really put a name to it, and really, no one knows them that well anymore.

They stand too close, they spend too much time together, they finish each other's sentences and fight like an old married couple. Strangers often do mistake them for a couple.

Dean always finds it hard not to laugh in their faces, knowing they've stumbled onto the truth when so many others in their life don't.

He and Sam have been more than brothers for a long time.

And, truth be told, Dean can't find it in him to fucking care who knows anymore. He's happy. Sam's happy. They aren't fucking hurting anyone and fuck society and their norms. And that's exactly what he'd told Sam the last time his brother had expressed any kind of concern about their relationship.

A few days later, they sit in the living room of one Rufus Turner, fellow hunter and executor of Bobby's will. They're both surprised to find that Bobby has left them everything, including a savings account with $800,000 in it.

"There's also the boat," Rufus finishes, setting the will aside and staring at the boys over the top of his reading glasses.

"Boat?" Sam croaks.

"Yeah. Hunt down in Key West, Singer sees a boat with a '_for sale'_ sign and decides he needs to have it. It's an old sailboat, built in the twenties or something. Rumor has it Clark Gable used to own the thing."

"Well, we'll just sell it. Not like Sammy and I would know the first thing to do with a boat." Dean crosses his arms across his chest and does his best to look stern. He isn't amused when Rufus out right laughs at him.

"That's just the thing. Bobby apparently really wants you to have this boat. You don't get the rest of your inheritance and you can't sell it until you've been to see it and take a ride. There's even a business card for a Captain to show you the ropes. I can't allow you to sell it until the Captain signs off."

"Sonuvabitch," Dean grumbles, pointedly ignoring the mirthful look on Rufus's face. "What the hell was Bobby thinking?"

"Dean, it won't be that bad. It's a vacation, right? Key West? We've always wanted to go there. It's pina coladas, beaches, Jimmy Buffet and Hemingway territory. Might be kind of nice." Sam's working the puppy dog eyes, and that's a force to be reckoned with.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Dean rolls his eyes. "Fine. Key West it is. But I am not flying. You understand me? I am not fucking flying!"

* * *

Dean Winchester grips the arms of his tiny coach seat and squeezes his eyes shut.

They aren't going to Key West, at least not for more than one night, oh no, the boat was in some little island in the Caribbean, someplace he'd never heard of, someplace even the giant geek boy sitting next to him had never heard of!

In order to sell the boat, they had to get the damn thing to Miami first. And this was after Captain Whoever took them on some little romp. The only part of this journey that has anything to do with Key West is the fact that Bobby actually purchased the boat there.

Dean's knuckles were whiter than the clouds passing by the window, which Sam couldn't seem to stop staring out of.

He thought Bobby loved him. He was sure of it. The man was like a second dad to him and Sam. So why the hell would he do this to him? Why would he make Dean get on a plane (which hello? Motherfuckin' plane?!) and fly to buttfuck nowhere island and why would he make him take some stupid boat ride when the closest thing Dean has to sea legs is his penchant for skillfully staying upright when he's blind wasted?

This is, by far, the stupidest thing Dean has ever experienced in his thirty plus years on the Big Guy's green Earth. A list that includes the truck stop waitress with the bizarre rash, pretending to be married to Bela fuckin' Talbot, or not following Sam to Stanford. Actually, that last thing was totally holding _the dumbest thing Dean Winchester's ever done_ top spot.

Still, this is pretty fucking stupid.

Who the hell needs a boat? It's not like he's going to be hunting sharktopus or whatever other weird monsters of the deep are out there. That's so not in his job description. No, he's a hunter of land monsters! Vampires, werewolves, wendigos, things that go bump in the night. In the woods, under the bed, wherever, but not on the fucking water! No water! Dean did not sign up for water. Or boats. Or motherfucking airplanes!

The plane decides, now that Dean has worked himself into a righteous anger, that it's the perfect time to hit a patch of turbulence, and the whole thing shakes violently, from nose to tail fin.

"Oh god oh god oh god," he whispers frantically, tightening his grips on the arm rests.

Sam looks over at him, raising an eyebrow over the Sky Mall catalog. "Seriously? It's just a little turbulence."

"Yeah, and King Kong was just a little monkey."

Sam sighs.

"Shut up."

"Didn't say anything."

"Could hear you thinking it."

"And what, pray tell, was I thinking?"

"That I'm a big old wuss."

A big grin from his little brother. "Got it in one."

Another rough patch, and Dean feels the blood drain from his face as his heart starts beating overtime. "Oh we're gonna die, we're gonna die, god, I'm gonna die."

Setting aside the magazine, Sam reaches across the arm rest and pries Dean's hand off. He takes his own two hands and wraps them around Dean's. "It's going to be ok. I swear. I'm right here, and it's going to be ok."

Dean turns and looks at Sam, his brother's eyes filled with concern, not a trace of mocking, and he relaxes slightly.

"Keep looking at me. Focus on me." He leans in closer so he can whisper in Dean's ear. "I booked us a really nice place for tonight. We spend tonight in Key West, make our way out to the island tomorrow. Really nice place, hot tub and minibar in the room. I'm going to make you feel so much better. Just wait 'til we land." Sam brushes his lips against Dean's neck, and Dean finally, finally lets go of some of the tension, now that he has something to distract him.

"Minibar, huh?"

"Mmhmm," Sam whispers, dragging his tongue along Dean's neck. "Minibar, king size bed, Jacuzzi tub, gorgeous views, and me. Feel better now?"

"No!"

"What?" Sam looks up in surprise. "Why not?"

"Because now," Dean whispers furiously, "I've got a boner. A boner I can do nothing about, because I don't care how kinky and awesome it would be, 6'1" and 6'4" are not fitting in the same airplane bathroom!" he hisses.

Bitch-face #9 makes its appearance.

And Dean goes back to anxiously awaiting touchdown.

* * *

They barely make it to their room, and Sam is shoving Dean across the floor. He thinks it might be a nice room, but Sam is not giving him a chance to look around, and he's far too busy having his jeans ripped off by his baby brother anyway.

There's the sound of fabric being stretched to the limit, and Dean's tee is gone, then Sam is on him. He shoves Dean hard, toppling him onto the bed, and making short work of the rest of Dean's clothes, jeans pulled off all the way, boxers tossed carelessly over his shoulder.

Scrambling up the bed, Dean watches with hooded eyes as Sam strips away his own clothes, tossing them down to the floor to join Dean's. He crawls up the bed with cat-like grace, a predatory gleam in his eye.

"Damn. Look at you, all spread out waiting for me." He dips his head, and Sam's tongue licks up his leg. "Been waiting all day for this, haven't you?" Dean nods. "Thought about it on the plane, on the drive here…" hot breath on his inner thigh, "…you'd let me do whatever I want, wouldn't you? You'd take anything I give you?" Sam's lips ghosting across the very tip of Dean's cock, making him squirm with anticipation. "You want this so bad. Beg me. Beg for it."

Dean's cheeks flame. It's scary sometimes, the transformation of Sam-the-geek-boy into Sam-the-dominating-sex-god. He loves it though. Dean's spent his whole life taking care of Sam. He doesn't regret a minute of it, and would do it all over again in a heartbeat, but in the bedroom, Sam's in charge. And Dean fucking loves it.

"Sammy," he whispers softly.

"What baby? What do you want? Tell me." Sam's lips and tongue draw a wet path up the center of Dean's torso.

"I want you."

"Want me how?" Lips on his nipple, sucking, teeth gently nibbling.

"You know…nnghh."

"Gotta tell me baby. What do you want?" Teeth biting a little harder now, big hand slipping down between his legs, his brother's thick fingers gently rolling his balls.

"God, Sammy, just fuck me. Fuck me already!"

"Mmm, that what you want?"

"You know it is! Dammit, c'mon…oh god, fuck Sam-mm-y." That mouth was on him now, kissing around his shaft, tongue snaking out to lick at his balls. "Oh god, Sammy, please, fuck me, god fuck me!"

"That's it," Sam murmurs, then swallows Dean down to the base.

"Oh fuck!" Dean yells, back arching off the bed. "NGGH! FUCK!"

Sam's good at this, beyond good at this, and he knows Dean better than anyone, he knows what makes Dean lose his mind the quickest. Two hard and fast deep throats, then pulling almost all the way off, Sam swirls his tongue through the slit, licking tiny little circles around the very tip, gentle, soft, teasing touches, then he plunges all the way down again, taking in as much of Dean as he can, and Dean's sure he's going to come right then, his dick gives a massive twitch as Sam pulls back and deep throats him again, then again, and _oh god_, this is it, he's going to come, and his hands shoot forward, wrapping deep into Sam's long hair.

Of course, that's the moment when Sam pulls off completely, reaching down to tightly wrap his fingers around the base of Dean's shaft.

"Oh, dammit, that's not fair. C'mon Sammy, let go, let go, god…pl-please. Please."

"Uh-uh. Not until I'm inside you."

"Well do it, then, dammit. Fuck me."

"Impatient much?" Sam chuckles, even as he's dripping lube onto his fingers. He shoves two of them into Dean rather roughly, and is rewarded with a lusty, wanton moan from his brother.

"Oooohhhh fuck, Sammy, yeah, that's it, fuck, _fuck_."

"God, I swear, you never shut up," Sam chuckles, twisting and scissoring his fingers.

"Oh fuck, _gah_, you, fuck, you love it," Dean sputters breathlessly.

His brother chuckles again, "yeah, I do." He slips in another finger, finding Dean's prostate almost immediately, and Dean can't help the whine that tumbles out of his mouth, his hands tightening in his brother's hair again.

"Oh, oh, fuck, oh fuck, Sammy! Dammit, I'm ready, c'mon, I'm ready!" There's only so much a guy can take after all.

Sam yanks his fingers out and flips Dean onto his belly, using those ridiculously big hands on his hips, roughly pulling him up on his knees, and Dean doesn't even have a second to get comfortable before Sam is driving into him and all the air leaves his lungs in a whoosh, stars igniting in his eyes.

Fuck, he never gets tired of this. He loves the way Sam just takes over, just owns him so completely, thrusting so ridiculously hard into him, it's a wonder Dean doesn't snap in half. Dropping his head down onto the mattress, Dean just gives up and enjoys the ride. Sam is fucking him like a man possessed, well not really possessed, they have tattoos for that, but hard, and animalistic in his drive, and Dean loves it. He'd be lying if he tried to say otherwise.

"God, after all this time, and you're still so fuckin' tight. Dammit, Dean, love fucking you. And you love it too, don't you, getting fucked by your little brother? You love how fucked up and wrong and twisted it is. I know you." Sam's words go right to his dick and so does his hand, he's stroking Dean with hard, rough strokes, and Dean's about two seconds from losing it. "Wanna come? Wanna come while I fuck you Dean?"

"Nggh, Sam, you know I do. C'mon dammit. C'mon!"

Sam chuckles, a low, dark sound, and for some reason, that satisfied little laugh does it, and Dean spills hot over Sam's hand. Two or three, or maybe six (he's post-orgasmic and you expect him to count?) and Sam's gone too, hot splash of liquid deep inside of Dean.

They collapse onto the bed, Sam completely covering Dean's body, until the smushed feeling becomes too much and Dean elbows his brother.

"Offa me, Sasquatch!" he growls, shoving Sam to the side. The other man simply rolls over, laughing heartily.

"Wore me out. Sorry."

"So not sorry."

"Yeah, not so much." Sam reaches one long arm down to the floor and grabs someone's tee-shirt and cleans them both up. Then he reaches for Dean and pulls him in close, standard post-coital procedure for the moose in charge. Dean just goes with it, rolling onto his side and allowing Sam to position Dean's head on his shoulder.

"Think about it. You and me on a pretty old sail boat in the middle of the Caribbean. It's going to be amazing, crystal blue water and palm trees. Maybe this captain guy will teach us how to sail it. Maybe we'll love it so much, we'll never want to go back to land. Maybe…"

"Seriously, are you sure you're not a woman? I mean dude, afterglow la-la-land fantasy boat talk? Did you grow a vagina when I wasn't looking?"

Sam snorts. "Says the guy who just took it up the ass from his little brother. Whatever dude."

Sam rolls away from Dean, and he can tell he just hurt his brother's feelings. And really, Sam's right, the boat might be kind of awesome. It's old, vintage really, might have belonged to Clark

Gable, hell, maybe they will have a good time. Maybe they'll love it.

"Yeah, maybe you're right Sam. Maybe it'll be great."

* * *

"What the actual fuck is that?"

They're standing on the pier on Sandwich Island. Sandwich. As in two pieces of bread, baloney and maybe a little cheese.

And their boat, their beautiful-vintage-was-once (maybe)-owned-by-Clark Gable-boat?

Total piece of shit.

Dean sighs. It's one of those legendary sighs that Sam has an internal list of. Like, he knows Dean indexes his so-called bitch-faces. This particular Dean sigh says many things, chief among them, I'm-right-because-I'm-older-and-you-are-wrong-and-now-we-are-fucked-and-if-you-think-I'm-taking-the-blame-you've-got-another-thing-coming-bitch!

Sam's pretty sure he's wearing his patented and-I'll-be-damned-if-you-think-you're-putting-this-one-on-me-jerk bitch-face.

The boat is a wreck. It looks like it's being held together by fishing line and duct tape but not in the MacGyver-can-fix-anything-with-duct-tape manner, no, this is more like the People-of-Walmart-fix-things-with-duct-tape manner.

Huh. When did he start using so many hyphens in his internal monologues?

It might have been green once. There's possibly a bit of red lining the hull. There's a peeling set of letters on the back that reads "_assy dy_". Upon closer inspection, he realizes that at one point, it must have said "_Sassy Lady_". Huh. _Assy_ fits better.

"What a piece of floating garbage," Dean grumbles. He's staring at the boat like it's personally offended him. Sam can see his scowl even through his black lensed aviators. His brother is wearing a vintage black Led Zeppelin tee from the 1975 tour and a pair of khaki cargo shorts that Sam forced him to buy. The man drew the line at sandals or flip flops of any kind, so he's standing there in his standard run of the mill work boots.

He looks ridiculous.

And hot. Definitely hot.

"So now what? We stand around and wait for Captain Courageous?"

Sam's eyes sweep over the hideous hunk of broken down boat and stop on the strangest sight he's ever seen in his life (and he's a hunter of all things supernatural. Strange is the family business).

There's a man sitting in the lotus position on the top of what Sam can only assume is the cabin.

His arms are outstretched, hands turned palms up and thumb and index fingers touching to form an "O". He's got long beaded dreads all around his face, his hair is a dark brown, almost black, his eyes are closed and his whole face is a serene expression of Zen.

He just happens to be wearing a black speedo and a tan trenchcoat.

Dean leans over and hisses in Sam's ear. "Is he...is he wearing a _trenchcoat_? It's like a thousand degrees out here! And what's with the beaded dreadlocks? Captain Jack Speedo?"

"Dude, I dunno. Y'think that's the captain?" Sam whispers back.

"Holy shit, I fuckin' hope not! I didn't sign on to be friggin' Will Turner to your Elizabeth Swann!"

Sam glares at his brother. "Why the hell do I have to be the chick?"

"Your hair, princess. 'Sides, I'm older and I say so."

"Fuck you."

"Ya did that last night. C'mon, let's get this shit over with."

With a heavy sigh, Sam walks as close to the edge of the pier as possible. "Hey," he calls.

No answer. Captain Speedo maintains his posture of Zen-liness, continuing with his deep breathing. Sam moves slightly closer.

"Hello? Mr.? Uh…er, Captain?"

Still no answer. Dean huffs a sigh and tosses his duffel onto the boat. He reaches out for the ropes lining the sides, grabs on, and hauls himself over the edge onto the deck.

Well he tries to, at any rate. He kinda misses, his stupid work boot slipping on the wet wood, and Dean disappears over the side with a loud "Fuck!" and a splash.

Now, Dean's a grown man. He should be able to pull his ass out of the water, right? Right. But about thirty seconds later, Sam is still standing there, Captain Speedo is still hanging out on the deck in Zen oblivion, and Dean is nowhere to be found. Hell, the water isn't even moving anymore.

Sam crouches down on the edge of the pier where Dean went over, peering down into the murky water, looking for his brother.

"Dean? Dean, where are you?" he calls down, concern starting to raise goose bumps on his neck. He shouldn't have been down there so long. Hell, it's been about a minute now, and still no Dean.

"Fuck!" Sam drops his bag and is just about to dive in to find him, when there's a splash near the front of the boat, and when he looks up, Captain Speedo is gone.

* * *

_Fuck this boat. Fuck this trip and fuck Sandwich-fuckin'-island and Rufus-fuckin'-Turner and fuck Captain Jack Speedo and this ugly ass boat and dammit, why the fuck can't that asshat even bother to acknowledge us and I'm just gonna get my ass up on that damn fuckin' boat myse-whoa, FUCK!_

Then his head's connecting with something hard and wet blackness swallows him up.

Dean comes around to ungodly bright sunlight and blue eyes. Unbelievably blue. And dreads. Wet dreads. Wet trenchcoat. Pretty smile. Nice teeth. Very white. Kinda cute guy all around actually, in sort of a freaky tax accountant with the whole wet trenchcoat kind of way. Blue eyes.

Dean likes blue eyes.

"Am I-am I dead?"

Blue eyes smiles kindly. "I hope not. That would be most inconvenient as Mr. Singer was very clear that I was to teach you and your brother the ways of sailing."

Sailing.

Brother.

Sailing? Brother?

Dean sits up abruptly and the entire world spins around him. He leans over the side of the pier and is violently ill.

There's a very large and warm hand on his back.

"Are you ok? Scared the shit out of me!"

"Sorry, S'mmy. Fell in the," a disgusting vomit-y burp, "water."

"No kidding. You tried to do some kind of crazy gymnastics stunt to get on the boat and fell in, hit your head. Castiel had to jump in and get you." Sam's wearing one of his patented bitch-faces. This is the one that says _you're an idiot, Dean_. It's probably the one he sees the most and wait, Castiel? Who's that?

"Castiel?"

"Yes, Castiel. I am your Captain and sailing instructor for this little journey," he informs them enthusiastically, sales pitch at the ready. "I will teach you how to maintain and sail the boat Mr. Singer left you. I assure you, I am quite knowledgeable in this area. I can provide all the instruction you need to operate and own this vessel. I will teach you how to maintain the sails for the maximum amount of life, how to catch the wind, how to read the boat's instruments and preserve the overall condition of the vessel. This boat will give you many years of enjoyment…"

"Hold it right there, Ahab, we aren't looking for many years of enjoyment, we're just looking to get this hulk of crap to Miami so we can sell the damn thing."

Castiel's face falls slightly. "Oh. I misunderstood. Mr. Singer seemed to think you would greatly enjoy…"

"He thought wrong."

"Dean…" Sam says quietly.

"Look," Dean grumbles as he gets to his feet. "Let's just get this over with. The sooner we take our little trip and get this damn thing to Miami, the sooner I can get back to normal." Reaching out for the ropes again, this time Dean is able to successfully complete his vault onto the boat, although there's a price to be paid. His head spins and his stomach tosses violently, and he wants very much to lie down.

* * *

Fuck this boat.

There's an engine.

A stinky, noisy, oil-consuming engine.

It runs all day, and all night, taking them out of port and into open water. They're heading somewhere, Dean can't remember.

That might be because he's spent the last thirty-two hours being seasick.

Miserably seasick.

Hands and knees on the floor seasick.

_I-think-I'm-dying-Sammy_ seasick.

The boat rocks hard to the left _(port)_ and Dean's stomach rolls hard to the right _(starboard)_. He leans over the miserable little bed _(berth)_ and empties the extremely small amount of bile left in him into a trashcan Sam has stationed next to the bed.

Also? Captain Nemo can go fuck himself with his goddamn boat terms. Oh excuse me. _Vessel._

Stalking out to the kitchen (_galley_) Dean digs through the tiny fridge looking for a beer.

No dice. Water it is.

Muttering under his breath about a serious lack of proper supplies and well-meaning father-figures, Dean stomps his way back into the bedroom. He's so damn irritated, so tired of the boat already. They left port in such a hurry they didn't even get supplies, Castiel (or _Cas_, as Sam so _adorably_ calls him) telling them that they could stop in San Something-or-other and get everything they need there, plus_ Carnivale_ (whatever the fuck that is) would be on.

Flopping onto his bed with a huff, Dean irritably retrieves his journal from the duffel under his feet. Sam's been cleaning everything in sight and has unpacked, putting his clothes away in the drawers underneath the bed Dean is using. Dean stubbornly refuses to unpack.

He's tired, sick, and cranky, and Sam has decided, since the intrepid Captain knows they are brothers, that he and Dean will use separate beds.

This makes Dean very unpleasant.

Snatching a pen off the headboard, he opens his journal and begins to write.

_Bobby, if I see you in the afterlife, I'm going to end you for this. What made you think I would be happy on a boat? When did I ever give you any indication I wanted anything to do with the seven seas? Not to mention, what the hell possessed you to buy a boat in the first place? Some crazy ass Gilligan fetish?_

_And where the hell did you find Captain Asshat? I swear I have never met anyone more infuriating or smug or fucking __gorgeous__ annoying in my entire fucking life!_

Distracted again, Dean stares off into space thinking about blue eyes. Glacial blue. There was that one time, they were hunting chupacabra along the Texas/Mexico border, and they'd spent a day splashing around in the Gulf. That kind of blue. As far as the eye could see blue. Sammy didn't have blue eyes, his were hazel. Most of the time anyway, sometimes they morphed into green, or aqua, or golden green-brown, and why is he thinking about eyes again? Shit, he really is turning into a girl.

Dean throws his journal across the room in frustration, then jumps a mile when a pair of strong arms wrap around him from behind.

"What's wrong?" Sam whispers in his ear.

"Nothin'," he grunts, wiggling his way out of Sam's arms. Digging in the duffel again, he yanks out a pair of swim shorts, which is all he really feels like putting on. A whiff of himself drifts up to his nose. "Fuck it, I'm gonna shower."

"Dean, what's wrong? Why are you so pissed off?"

"I dunno, Sam, maybe because you've acted like you barely know me for the last two days?"

Dean snatches a towel of the end of his bed and shoves past his brother on his way to the shower.

"Cas knows we're brothers! What did you want me to do?"

"I don't give a fuck what you do, Sam," Dean hisses, yanking his clothes off. "I'm gonna shower and you can go play first mate or whatever the fuck you do while I'm barfing my guts out. Just fuck off." Naked, Dean steps into the shower stall and slams the door shut on the tiny two-by-two foot room. Hissing slightly when the first blast of cold water hits him, Dean plasters himself against one wall until it warms up.

Damn, he hates fighting with Sam. Sure, he's frustrated, but Sam probably is too. And they just need to get the damn boat up to Florida and then everything will go back to normal. They can make a home base at Bobby's, only hunt when they want to…for the first time, Dean's finally seeing light at the end of the tunnel. A life outside of hunting, a life without the bruises, cuts, and concussions.

If they manage that $800,000 carefully, they can live off of that for the rest of their lives. A few careful investments, and Dean could start running the salvage yard, and the two of them could live very comfortably. Only take local hunts just to keep their skills alive, run the phones like Bobby did, hell, maybe Sammy could go back to school…

Dean's lost in a blissful daydream of domesticity when the shower door opens, and a hard body is pressing against him.

"Sam! Dude, what the fuck?"

"I missed you," Sam whispers into his neck, "and Cas is off the boat, getting supplies." Sam's big hands sweep down Dean's flank, "and I've been going crazy, first you were sick, then I couldn't touch you…been losing my mind."

"You're the one who demanded separate beds and there ain't enough room for both of us in here dammit!" Dean shoves hard, trying to push Sam out of the tiny shower, but there are times his moose of a brother is unmovable. This is one of those times.

"C'mon, don't be like that. I love you, you know that, but Cas knows we're brothers and I don't want it to get more awkward than it already is."

"Whatever. Just…go. Leave me alone." He tries shoving Sam again, but his brother doesn't move.

"Dean. C'mon man. Just let me, just let me." His hands drift further downward, sliding over Dean's hips.

"Why is it ok now, then? Just 'cause he's off the boat? So it's ok to go back to the brother loving? Whatever, Sam. I don't even care." If the stall was bigger, he'd turn away from Sam.

"Dean, don't be like this. It's not normal, what we have, and most people wouldn't be ok with it. I don't want Cas to freak out or something, not when we need him to help us get the boat to Miami. Ok? We have to keep him happy for now. But, he's not here, and you are, and so am I, and I am really turned on, and," he wraps one of his big hands around Dean's cock, "so are you," he finishes triumphantly.

Yeah, ok, he is turned on. Extremely turned on actually. Dean lets his head fall back against the wall of the shower as Sam starts stroking him in earnest. It's all they can really do in there, pressed tightly into the stall as they are, and Dean lets the washcloth he's been holding drop to the floor, his arms moving upward to wrap around Sam's neck.

Sam ducks his head and licks a slow trail up Dean's neck, and he's starting to get lost in it now, thrusting hard into Sam's fist. He's close, really close, when there's an odd gurgling sound from below them.

"What was- what was that?" Dean gasps.

"Dunno," Sam says carelessly, nibbling on his neck, "not important." Sam's fist moves faster, relentlessly pushing Dean closer to the edge. "Come on, let go, let go Dean."

Dean sucks in a breath, all the feeling in his body pooling in his belly, and moments later, he's coming all over Sam's hand.

"That's it, there you go," Sam murmurs happily, his face buried in Dean's neck. He pumps Dean a few more times, then pulls his body back to let the water wash over Dean's chest. "Let's go get in bed. I wanna fuck you. Gonna let me?"

Dean groans, runs a hand down his face and tries to convince his wobbly knees to cooperate. "Yeah, just get out. Too crowded in here."

Sam moves to go out the door. Nothing happens.

"Get out Sasquatch!"

"I can't. Door's stuck." Sam pushes back against it again, but the door holds.

"Oh come on! Push harder!" Dean shoves an arm between the wall and his brother and gives the door a solid push. "Oh shit, it's not moving! What the hell?!"

"I don't know! I can't get it either! It's fucking stuck!" They're both frantically shoving at the door, but the door is not moving. It's official, they're trapped in the shower.

"Well this is just fucking great. Explain to me how we're going to get out of this one!"

"I dunno, guess when Cas gets back…"

"And what do you plan on telling him when he finds us in here together, naked?"

"I don't know, Dean! I don't…uh…"

"What?"

"Why is the water up to your knees?"

Dean looks down in surprise, shocked to find that the water level in the stall is far higher than it should be. "Must be a clog…shit! The washcloth! That's what that weird noise was!" His eyes widen. "We're gonna drown in the shower, Sammy! We're gonna drown naked in the shower!"

"We're not going to drown," Sam retorts with a roll of his eyes. "I'll just shut off the water." He reaches for the knob, gives it a spin and the damn thing falls off. The water stays on.

"Ahh…fuck." Sam looks at Dean helplessly. "It broke."

"Oh for Christ's sake! We're gonna drown on a boat, naked in a shower! This is insane!" The water is still rising and is up to their waists now. The stream coming out of the shower head is cold and Dean's starting to shiver.

"Dean, I'm sorry, this is my fault."

"Damn right it's your fault!"

"I didn't mean…"

"Shut up!"

"…acting like a spoiled brat…"

"…asshat that just had to get in here with me…"

"…so not my fault…"

They're screaming incoherent insults at each other and the water is getting forever higher, up to the middle of Sam's chest now, and Dean finally realizes how serious the situation has become.

"Sammy."

"What?"

Dean's eyes are wide with panic. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Oh god, we're really gonna die in here aren't we?"

Sam looks at him, hazel eyes sad. "I don't know how we're going to get out of this one. But we will, ok? You've got to calm down."

Dropping his head in defeat, Dean leans against Sam and lets his little brother pull him close.

"I'm sorry Sammy. I'm so sorry."

"It's ok," Sam says huskily. "At least we're together."

"Dude, when we get to the, y'know, the other side, how the fuck are we gonna explain this to Bobby?"

"I dunno, man. I don't know."

The water is lapping at Dean's chin now, and he presses himself tighter against Sam. "I love you, Sammy." He can't help the tear that drips down his face.

"Love you too, Dean." Sam pulls Dean as tightly against him as he can. They're both shivering from the coldness of the water, clinging to each other, resigned to their fate, when there's a loud clunking noise from outside the shower stall.

The water shuts off.

"Wha…how?" Dean sputters.

"Oh my god. We're not gonna drown. We're not gonna drown!" Sam grins at him.

"Uh…guys?" A muffled voice from outside the door makes them both jump and Sam's face flames bright red.

Dean groans, drops his head to Sam's chest.

"Um. Yeah, Cas?" Sam asks, voice filled with resignation.

"You can't run the water non-stop like that. It's hard on the pumps, the water heater can't keep up, and it'll kill our batteries."

"Um. Ok?"

"Also…there's a mop handle. It fell over the door, and it's wedged in the handle. You wouldn't be able to open the door with it here. I'm going to move it so you can get out…"

"No! Cas don't!"

The door opens, and Sam and Dean are swept out of the shower by the receding wave of water.

They both land face first on the floor with a wet squelch, Dean sprawling across Sam's back.

Sam makes a noise that's a cross between a sob and whimper, shoves Dean off of him and scurries to his feet, dashing off for the bedroom, and he slams the door behind him.

Dean gets to his feet slowly, hyperaware of the man standing in front of him. Castiel is holding the offending mop, and his eyes sweep shamelessly over Dean's naked body. Dean stares back, taking in the trenchcoat and speedo outfit, the messy, messy dark brown dreadlocked hair, and those insanely blue eyes.

He hasn't had much interaction with Castiel so far, having spent most of his time below deck barfing his brains out.

"So, I will uh, clean this water up for you." Castiel moves forward with the mop, inches from Dean.

"Uh, dude, personal space?"

"Oh. I'm sorry." He looks slightly confused, and his eyes drop again.

_Shit_, Dean realizes, _he's checking me out_.

"So I'm gonna…I'm gonna go get dressed." He shuffles awkwardly towards the bedroom door, his bare feet making little waves in the several inches of water on the floor.

"Of course." Castiel trails off, still standing there, stone still, eyes carefully tracking Dean's retreating ass.

They stand there a minute more, staring at each other, then Dean grunts and forces himself to move into the bedroom.

* * *

If there's a hell, a for-real place, not just the goofy religious legends, but a real place where you go when you die if you've spent your life fucking up and messing things up and doing it all wrong, if that place really and truly exists, well, Sam Winchester's pretty sure that's where he's gonna end up.

As evidence, he cites the following truths.

One, he regularly and vigorously fucks his older brother. Two, he likes doing this. Hell, he loves it. Three, he's ridiculously attracted to the incredibly gorgeous, smart and funny captain employed to teach him and Dean how to sail their boat (and he also thinks Dean might be as well, and probably would be for sure if he'd just take the time to get to know Cas). Four, he's very much enamored with the idea of being with both Cas and Dean at the same time.

This is why he knows he's going to hell. Because it isn't enough to be fully involved in a twisted incestuous relationship and actually really enjoy it, oh no, he's got to be lusting after yet another man, worse, he wants to sleep with both men at the same time and seriously?

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

Taking a long, long drag off the drink in front of him, he observes the man sitting across from him.

He'd let Cas convince him it was a good idea to leave the boat.

Dean declined, citing his weak stomach (bullshitting jerk, he was just too ashamed to be seen with Sam now that Cas, well, _knew_) so Sam was the only Winchester sitting at the small table with Cas, mojito in hand, listening to reggae and steel drums, watching pretty people dance in San Esteban's charming little square.

The tiny island is celebrating its Carnivale with gusto, people moving about and having a good time, and all Sam can do is entertain the morose and guilty thoughts dancing in his own head.

"What's wrong?" Cas asks, blue eyes searching Sam's face over the rim of his pina colada. He'd left the speedo and trench behind on the boat, opting instead for a rather nice button down black Hawaiian print shirt and khaki shorts, although he'd completely forgone footwear. He'd pulled most of the dreads back with a thick rubber band. He looks halfway…normal. And gorgeous. Fucking beautiful even.

_Dammit._

"Nothing."

"I don't believe you. Something's bugging you."

"Really, you have to ask?"

Cas studies Sam a moment more. "So you fuck your brother, who cares?"

Sam spits mojito all over the place.

"Cas!"

"What? You don't fuck you brother? Does he fuck you then?"

Cas's frankness is a little alarming. "Cas, seriously…"

"Why do you think I would have a problem with it? Have I expressed any distaste? Honestly," he leans in closer to Sam, a conspiratorial look on his face, "I find it pretty hot."

Sam blinks in surprise. "Really?"

"Mm-hmm." Cas takes another sip. "How could I not, the both of you being as gorgeous as you are, and the thought of you together…yeah. Hot." He looks pointedly at Sam, whose face heats. "Believe me, I wouldn't mind being in the middle of that."

The icy glass in Sam's hand slips out of his grip and shatters on the stone of the square, glass and mint leaves everywhere. His hand is sweaty and shaking, and his lungs feel starved for oxygen.

"What? Why are you surprised? You and Dean have such beautiful souls, you shine so bright. Of course you're attractive to me."

Sam fidgets, a little undone by Cas's words.

"You are like stars in the night sky, the two brightest planets in rotation, glittering and twinkling, shining your light over everyone."

All Sam can do is stare. Cas is weird. It's been obvious since they met three days ago. Cas is just flat-out weird. He can run on for hours about bees, and the growth patterns of flowers. He can wax poetic about why tornados prefer the Midwest, how a light year works and why the stars appear to twinkle in the night sky. He spent an hour explaining to Sam about the waves and the water and how they do as they please, choosing their own paths, refusing to be directed by man. He can easily expand on Einstein's Theory of Relativity like he knew the man personally. He's weird. He's incredibly weird. Weird with a capital "W" weird.

But Sam can't deny the imagery the man describes is beautiful.

"You should dance with me," Cas says suddenly.

"Uh…"

"It's Bob Marley. Three Little Birds. One of my favorite songs. It's pretty out here, the moon is sparkling on the ocean and there are beautiful people and beautiful you, and you should dance with me." Cas stands, the matter already decided in his mind, and holds his hand out to Sam.

Sam sucks in a breath, looks up into twinkling blue eyes, and he feels completely swept away and unprepared to deal with the force of nature Castiel is turning out to be. He stands, and takes the hand offered him, and lets Cas pull him out into the square, ignoring the looks from the other dancers, some amused, some pleased, and some repulsed.

He doesn't care.

Dean doesn't go in much for PDA. It's a sad fact of Sam's existence. Because Sam is very handsy. He'd love to hold Dean's hand, to kiss him softly in public, play footsy in a restaurant. He just can't convince Dean.

But Cas…Cas is a different story completely.

He leads Sam out to the dance floor, putting one hand on his waist, and taking Sam's other hand in his own, pulling it close to his chest. He then proceeds to take the lead, dragging Sam into a dance that is halfway between a tango and a waltz, completely off-time with the reggae beat pumping through the square as Bob Marley's voice carries over the crowd.

_"Don't worry about a thing,_

_'Cause every little thing gonna be all right._

_Singin' don't worry about a thing,_

_'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"_

Cas spins Sam around in a lazy circle and he can't help himself, he throws his head back and laughs, Cas laughing with him. He's truly having a wonderful time, and he forgets about everything, all his responsibilities, the horrible mess in the shower, and he forgets about how much he's still grieving for Bobby.

And when Cas leans in for a kiss, slow and sweet and perfect, Sam goes with it. He goes with the hand in his hair, and the soft press of a tongue against his own.

Sam focuses on Cas, and letting go, and for the first time in a long time, Sam Winchester has _fun_.

* * *

There are hands on him.

They're hot, gliding over his hips and thighs, in his hair, touching his face, playing with his balls and palming his cock.

There are entirely too many hands on him!

Dean opens his eyes, startled, sits up in bed, stunned by the first thing he sees.

Sam and Cas.

Cas and Sam.

_Holyfuckwhatisgoingonhere?!_

Cas has his hands buried in Sam's hair and Sam has his tongue buried in Cas's mouth.

They are all naked, even Dean, who could swear he went to bed with fucking clothes on!

Dean makes an incredibly embarrassing noise, a mutated cross between a whimper and a squeak, and Sam languidly pulls his head away from Cas to look at him.

His hazel eyes are completely lust-blown, lips pink and swollen as he grins at Dean. "'bout time you woke up, big brother. We thought we were gonna have to play without you."

Cas smiles at him as well, letting his hands drop from Sam's hair to sweep up Dean's legs. His eyes are also gone, and the smile on his face is a wild, feral thing. "We would so much prefer to play _with_ you."

Sam hums his assent. "We're gonna wreck you, Dean. Gonna shatter you. You're gonna let us, too, there's no saying no," he looks down, "and your body sure isn't saying no."

Sucking in a harsh breath, Dean goes to move his arms, just to find that they're tied to the headboard. "_Ohfuckohfuckohfuck_," he murmurs.

"That's the plan," Cas smirks. He stops climbing up Dean's legs for a moment, reaching out to grab Sam by the hair and yank him in for another kiss. Dean can see their tongues dancing and his dick gives an almost painful twitch.

Sam breaks away first, and dips his head, licking a bead of precome off of Dean's dick. Dean gasps; he's finding it hard to breathe at all.

Oh shit. He didn't know he wanted this. He didn't. Yeah, Cas is hot. He's beautiful in fact, just like Sam, god, they're both beautiful. But this is too much. He can't have them together, his brain can't handle it, it will fucking explode.

Cas dips his head next to Sam's and now they're licking his dick together. He can feel the brush of Cas's dreads, the cool of the little beads on them, dragging across his thighs. He can feel their tongues touching, both of them snaking around the head, licking at him and at each other and _oh god, I'm gonna die!_

His heart is pounding out of his chest, and just when he thinks it can't get any more exciting, Sam takes him down. All the way down. Down so far his brother's nose is buried in his pubic hair.

Closing his eyes, he lays back in the pillows, desperately trying to hang onto his sanity. A loud moan around his cock has him opening his eyes again.

Cas has moved behind Sam, and has his face buried in Sam's ass. Sam pulls off, turns to see what Cas is doing, then turns back to grin at Dean. The look on his face is positively euphoric, and he drops his head, descending on Dean's cock again.

_Fuck. I'm going to die. Death by sex. I'm going to die. I'm going to die._

Sam deep throats him again.

_Oh, but what a way to go!_

Dean blinks, and Cas is on his knees, pushing into Sam, his hand firmly wrapped around a chunk of his brother's hair, while Sam is still trying to suck what's left of Dean's brain out through his dick. It's too much, the visual, and the sounds, Sam moaning, Cas grunting, and he's going to come, fuck this is it…

CRASH.

Dean sits straight up in bed. There's a giggling (and fully dressed) Sasquatch draped across his legs.

He runs a hand down his face, not surprised to find himself covered in sweat. That was a dream. A fucking-hot-as-hell-yeah-I-wanna-do-that-in-real-life-dream. He's drenched, and unsurprisingly, achingly hard.

"I'm drrrrrruuunnnnkkkk!" Sam sings, "I'm really, really drunkkkk!" He rolls over on the bed like an overgrown puppy. "Hi Dean!" he yells at the top of his lungs. Dean flops back into the pillows.

"Oh for shit's sake, Sam, get your own bed."

Sam giggles like a moron, and crawls up the bed to lay beside Dean. "I like it right here."

"No. Separate beds, remember?"

"Nope! Cas knows all about us, and what's more," Sam grins smugly, "he doesn't care."

"Huh."

"Yup. He doesn't care. He thinks we're hot. And we are. Hot. Hot, hot, hot." Sam rolls onto his back and giggles. He giggles for like five minutes.

"There you are ladies and gentlemen, Sam Winchester is _gone_." Dean smiles despite himself. Not like anyone could really stay mad at the cutest overgrown drunk the world has ever seen. Sam rolls back over, a big happy grin on his face, and gives Dean a wet sloppy kiss on the cheek as his hands start wandering Dean's body.

"I had a buncha mojitos. I love mojitos! They're all minty and rummy and jus' yum. I danced with Cas! I love Carnivale! I love our boat! I love sailing!" He hiccups. "I love you! I love you bestest Dee," Sam giggles.

"Yeah, yeah."

Sam slides his hand down Dean's leg. "Oooh, you're really hard. Want me to do something about that?"

Eternally grateful that the cabin is too dark to really see how flushed Dean's cheeks are, he gasps when Sam yanks his boxers down and sucks Dean into the back of his throat without any warning at all.

"Sammy," Dean murmurs quietly, hands snaking into his long, floppy hair, remembering for a moment how Sam had looked, flushed and sweaty, with Cas's hands wrapped in his hair. Remembers the noises Sam made when Cas fucked into him. Remembers how Cas's eyes looked, blown with desire.

"Fuck, Sam, just like that, just like that, fuck, I'm coming, I'm coming!" His orgasm hits like a freight train, and he arches up into Sam's mouth. His little brother sucks him through it, until the overload of sensation becomes almost painful.

A wet pop, and Sam's back up next to him, snuggling into his shoulder. "Fuck, that wasss fass, Dee," he slurs, "mussa been a good dream."

"Yeah, it was. It really was." Dean closes his eyes, feeling a thin strand of shame and guilt. But he can't control his dreams, right? He sighs. "Want me to return the favor?" No answer. "Sam?"

Sam is gone, passed out on his shoulder. Dean smiles, and kisses his baby brother's forehead, then pulls the blankets back over them, wiggling back into his boxers. He snuggles in beside Sam, and follows him down into sleep.

Up on the deck, Cas slowly backs away from the cabin window and licks the come off his hand, tilting his head back to smile up at the stars.


	2. With All of Our Running

Admittedly, this did hold a certain amount of appeal.

"This" is Dean, in shorts and nothing else but a pair of old sunglasses, sitting on the prow of the sailboat, sun warming his shoulders and the wind whipping through gel-less hair.

The air smells wonderful; the sails are rippling and snapping with the gusts. They'd reached open water, and were traveling north to Miami, about four days away if the wind held. It was such a relief to shut off the noisy, smelly engine and let the wind carry them. He's surprised at how much faster the boat moves on the sails.

Sam is sitting next to him, hair wild and Ray Bans on. He's also just in shorts, leaning up against the cabin. His skin is darkening beautifully, and Dean feels a twitch of desire as he tilts his head back to drain the beer in his hand. Sam has one gloriously long throat, and watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows makes Dean think about how Sam would look with a mouth full of Cas's cock and how his jaw muscles would dance as he…

_Stop it_! Dean chastises himself. _Get yourself together Winchester, this is getting ridiculous! Between the unbelievable dreams and the fuckin' looks Captain Morgan Spiced Rum keeps giving me…fuck this is insane! I'm happy with Sam! I don't need Cas too._ _What I need is a life. And maybe a hobby. Coupla stiff drinks couldn't hurt either._

Sam sighs happily beside him and stretches out on the deck, all eight feet of him, tan and muscled like a Greek god. An Adonis with puppy dog eyes.

There's a strange little sound behind him, and Dean turns to find Cas at the wheel, staring unashamedly at Sam, eyes sweeping appreciatively down his brother's hard body. Sam tilts his head slightly, and grins at Cas, who returns the grin.

Scowling, Dean glares at the man, who he quickly realizes can't even see his eyes through the heavy tint of his glasses.

This situation has reached new levels of weirdness.

Since Carnivale, and that smoking hot dream, Dean has been filled with ideas and thoughts he wants no part of.

At least, that's what he keeps telling himself.

Every time he closes his eyes, every time he dozes off, his dreams take over. Each dream presents new and increasingly obscene ways to fuck both his brother and Cas at the same time. Each time he wakes up, sweaty and shaking, and so hard it hurts. The dreams are relentless and don't go away and it's almost like someone is planting them in his head.

It's starting to slip into his waking hours as well. He's skating a knife edge of near constant arousal. Dean's already jerked off once in the shower that morning, and he's starting to feel like he needs to do it again. Watching Sammy chug that beer hasn't done him any favors, and he reaches down to adjust the front of his swim shorts.

"Sam, come here," Cas bellows from the wheel. His brother pulls himself to his feet with a grin for Dean, reaching down to fondly chuck his chin before making his way back to where Cas stands by the wheel.

Dean sighs and leans forward, letting the salt spray blow into his face. He loves the smell and taste of the ocean. Dammit, he isn't ready to admit it, not to anyone and barely to himself, but he could get used to this. He could get used to the gentle rocking motion of the sailboat while he sleeps at night. He could get used to the sound of the wind snapping in the sails. He's already used to being with Sam all the time. He could get used to Cas…

Sam laughs, a pleased, contented sound.

Turning slowly to face them, Dean's eyes widen at the sight of Sam at the wheel, huge grin lighting his face, Cas's arms wrapped tightly around him, his hands over Sam's at ten and two on the wheel.

Sam turns his head slightly, and his smile becomes sweeter, more intimate. Dean knows that smile. It's the one Sam usually gives him when he's being sweet and loving or just in the mood to show Dean he cares.

He doesn't know how he feels about that. The intimacy alarms him.

Is he in danger of losing Sam? Has he been doing something wrong?

Dean's stomach churns, and he thinks he might vomit. Cas laughs, then Sam laughs again as the dark haired man whispers something into his little brother's ear. They turn to each other and laugh harder, and as Dean watches helplessly, Cas's right hand slips off the wheel and onto Sam's hip, slender fingers wrapping around the jut of bone like his hand belongs there.

_Ok, that's it!_

Unable to watch their silly little dance any longer, Dean yanks himself to his feet, spilling what's left of his beer on the deck. He stalks around the side of the boat, wrenches open the cabin door and steps down inside, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

"That was a charming display of temper," Cas says drily.

"Yeah…not sure what that was about. He seemed like he was in a good mood. I dunno what his deal is."

"Maybe he's jealous?" As if to make his point, Cas leans forward, pressing his chest closer to Sam's back. He presses a soft kiss along Sam's neck, and Sam can't help the slight shiver the contact causes.

"He doesn't need to be. I dunno, Cas, I think he's interested…or he wants something. I don't know. I swear he's turned on all the time, if he thinks I can't see that…fuck, I don't know."

Cas is quiet, rubbing his hand along Sam's hip a while and letting him think.

"You know, I know he's interested."

"How can you tell?"

"He talks in his sleep. He's said your name in his sleep. Then he wakes up all sweaty and shaking. I'm telling you Cas, he's interested. Or at least his subconscious is. Just got get the rest of him on board."

"Any bright ideas?"

"Maybe," Sam says softly, thinking hard. He watches the sea for a while, reveling in the solid feel of Cas at his back and the warmth of the sun on his bare shoulders.

This is wonderful. It's relaxing and warm and comfortable and as close to heaven as Sam believes he'll ever get. He's honest enough with himself to recognize he has incredibly strong feelings for Castiel.

Cas's fingers slip along the band of his shorts, and two of them dip inside, brushing the skin just below his navel. Sam hums as the fingers dip lower. Dean isn't the only one in a near constant state of arousal, just Sam isn't the least bit embarrassed by it.

"Want me to stop?" Cas growls in his ear, his hand dropping lower into Sam's shorts, cupping his dick. His fingers tighten around him, and he slowly pumps his hand a few times.

Sam lets his head loll back onto Cas's shoulder. "Don't stop," he gasps. Cas chuckles in his ear, then his tongue licks a hot trail down the side of Sam's neck.

"You're incredibly turned on, aren't you? More than you thought you'd be? Can you imagine, watching me do this to Dean? You know how hot it would be, don't you? You want it. You want it bad."

His hands grip tight on the wheel and Sam's knees are shaking. Cas runs his hand over the head, gathering the thick beads of precome, using it to slick him up, his hand moving faster now.

"Fu-fuck, Cas. Fuck."

"Mmm, I'd like to. How would you like it, Sam? Wanna fuck Dean while I suck him off? Or maybe I fuck you while you fuck Dean? There's a thousand different ways we could do it." Cas's other hand is traveling down the back of his shorts now, index finger sliding between the cheeks of his ass, and Sam jumps slightly when that finger finds his hole. "Have you ever been fucked, Sam? Or are you always the top?"

"Nngh, only bottomed…once…Dean's a slut. Loves takin' it from…_fuck_…me." Sam's breathing is uneven, he's shaking, and that distinct heat is gathering in his belly, his groin, his lower back. He's close, so fucking close it hurts.

"I'm going to fuck you, Sam. I'm going to fuck you so good, you'll beg me for it."

That gravelly voice is burning in his ear, and he thinks he could come just from that alone, but then Cas slips the tip of his finger, the one that's been gently circling, into him, just up to the first knuckle, and that's it, Sam gasps, grips the wheel as tight as he can, his whole body catching fire as he comes in Castiel's hand.

He sucks in a ragged breath, slumping back against the man behind him. Cas pulls his come-covered hand out of Sam's shorts and stares at it critically before lifting it to Sam's mouth. "Taste yourself," he growls.

"Uh..."

"Do it." Cas pushes his hand into Sam's face, turning him around to face him, caging Sam between himself and the wheel. The other man has a devious look in his blue eyes, and he leans forward to run his tongue over his own fingers.

Sam's eyes are wide, watching the show, and his limp dick gives an interested twitch despite itself. "Cas," he whimpers pathetically, and Cas takes the opportunity to shove two fingers into Sam's mouth. The taste isn't terribly unpleasant, it's no worse than when Dean comes in his mouth. Cas pulls his fingers back out and replaces them with his tongue, shoving Sam hard against the wheel.

He melts into the kiss, the taste of himself in Cas's mouth is intoxicating. When they finally break apart, Sam is breathless, and a little shaken by the intensity of it all. He falls to his knees with a smile, reaching for the band of Cas's speedo. He can clearly see the other man's erection under the thin black spandex, and he's surprised when Castiel stills his hands, gentle pressure on his wrists. "No, Sam. Not yet. Not until we get Dean onboard."

Sam blinks up at him in confusion. "But I wanted to return the favor."

"I know," Cas murmurs as he helps Sam to his feet, "and it's sweet of you. But we need to get Dean agreeable first. Any ideas?"

Leaning back against the wheel, Sam wracks his brain for ideas, smiling expansively when one comes to him.

"I think I got a plan."

* * *

Dean grumbles obscenities under his breath as he roots through the boxes Sam and Cas brought onboard at San Esteban.

There's got to be whiskey in one of them.

Or rum.

Rum works.

Ten minutes later, and he's managed to polish off a third of the damn bottle, and he's definitely buzzing. Seems as good a time as any to write a journal entry.

It takes entirely too long to find the leather bound book, and even longer to locate a pen. By the time all of that happens, he's already downed more than half the bottle and is staggering around the cabin, collapsing into a heap on his bed, sneezing when a small cloud of dust puffs out with the impact.

_Dear Motherfuckin diary,_

_This is worse trip ever. I hate fuckin boats and Sammy is in love with the captain and I don't know what to do about that but I know I don't like it. Can't blame him though, dude is hot. Like fuckin walking on the sun hot. _

_Blue fucking eyes, fucking stupid dreads. I don't even like his smile evn if it's kinda pretty and his teeth are nice. Stupid trench coat. Stupid speedo. Stupid dumb stupid head._

_Fuck im' drunk._

_Haha, misspelling shit is fun!_

_Wheeeeeeeeee!_

_Drunkedy drunkedy drynk._

_But what if Cas makes Sam happy? I don't want to lose Sam. I don't want to._

_Fuck._

_I'm an asshole. I don' hug Sammy enough. Don't kiss him enough. Fuck._

_Mayeb Sammy should leave. 'sides might be better to fuck someone who ISN'T realted to you._

_Fuck me._

Dean stares at the splotch on the page, poking at it with the pen. Is he crying?

He is. Dammit.

_Why do I fukc up everythin I touch? I'm a fuckup. Total piece of shit. Dammit._

_Sam deserves better. I won't stand in their way. If Cas maks him happy. Shit._

_Shit shit shit._

_Fuck fuckdy fuck._

_Why in the evr livn fuck do I keep a fuckin journal anyway?_

Dean tosses the journal off the bed, the pen following shortly thereafter. It's not much longer and the not-exactly-small bottle of rum is empty. He stares at it blankly, and is definitely a bit alarmed to realize he literally drank the entire thing.

The bottle follows the journal.

Dean flops back into the sheets and pillows with a huff and watches dazedly as the reflection of the sun on the water dances on the ceiling of the cabin. He's about to black out, he can feel it, and he welcomes unconsciousness.

He's still crying, tears rolling unchecked down the sides of his face, dripping into his ears, and he hates himself for it. If Sam wants to move on, then he'll let him. He's not going to stand in his way. No matter how much it hurts.

It's this rather morose thought that accompanies him down into the dark, black rushing up over him as he succumbs to the alcohol.

* * *

He dreams, again, of Cas and Sam.

Of heat, and sweat, hands, mouths, slick skin on slick skin, of gasps, and breathy moans, whispered names, and undeniable _want_.

He dreams of Cas inside him and of Sam sucking him down. He dreams of Cas's fingers sliding inside of his brother and the sweet noises Sammy makes.

When he actually does wake, he's sure he's still dreaming. There are warm hands sliding up his legs, tickling the fine hair on his thighs. His shorts are gone, and there's a tongue licking softly around the head of his dick.

Dean's eyes open, but all he can see is black. A silky piece of fabric is wrapped around his eyes, effectively blinding him, and when he goes to move his hands, he finds he's been tied, firmly, to the headboard.

The mouth on his dick is more insistent now, sliding down to take more of him in, tongue swirling around. A finger is circling his hole, then pushing in, the passage made easier by the cool slick of lube.

It's the lube that finally wakes him up enough to realize he isn't, in fact, dreaming. He's very much awake, and apparently, Sam is giving him one hell of a blow job.

"Sammy," he murmurs, wishing he could put his hands down and wrap them in his brother's overlong hair. Not that he minds being tied up. That's hot too.

The mouth around him hums, a filthy little chuckle follows, and holy shit, it feels so good, and Dean's hips arch of the bed involuntarily. Sam swallows him down even further, relaxing his throat and taking him down so far, his nose brushes the nest of wiry hair at the base of Dean's dick.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck I'm so close," he gasps, and all the while, the fingers in his ass have been moving, three now, brushing against his prostate, stretching him wide, and it's good, god, it's so fucking good.

Then everything stops.

If you asked him, he'd never admit to the absolutely pathetic whine that tumbles from his mouth, but whine he did.

"Sammy, c'mon, finish the job, c'mon." His brother's hands move behind his head, and the blindfold's removed.

And that's when Dean Winchester realizes that if God actually does exist, he completely and unequivocally hates Dean Winchester.

Expecting to see his brother's shaggy hair and beautiful puppy dog eyes, Dean feels his heart stop when he finds himself looking up into a pair of electric blue eyes that seem to glow in the dim light of the cabin.

His dreads are pulled back, which is why Dean didn't feel them dragging across his legs, and his lips are stained red and swollen. He looks totally wrecked, except for the wicked smirk he's currently directing at Dean.

"What the hell?" Dean whispers helplessly.

Cas doesn't answer, just smiles in that infuriating way, and shoves his fingers back into Dean.

Dean moans, and arches his back off the bed, because, Christ, that feels fucking good as fuck.

Somewhere in between the assault on his prostate and the mouth that's returned to his cock, he realizes he's actually cheating on Sam but fuck, Cas is so damn good at this and it's so intense.

Then the fucker stops again.

"Why…why'd you stop?" Dean gasps.

"Do you want me too?"

"I don't…I don't know."

"Yes or no, Dean. Yes, I get up and leave. I stop. No," he pauses and grins, "no means stay. And if I stay, I'm going to put your legs over my shoulders and fuck you. Do you understand?"

Wide-eyed, Dean nods his understanding, and his heart is pounding so hard, he's terrified that he's going to give himself a heart attack. It's also during this time that he realizes he's still extremely drunk. Not buzzed, not tipsy, fucking raging drunk.

"So, I'll ask you again. Do you want me to stop?" Cas stares at him expectantly and a thousand and one reasons rush through his mind, all of them arguments for stopping but when he opens his mouth, only one word slips out, his voice hoarse and ragged.

"No."

Cas grins, and does as he said he would, reaching for Dean's legs and pulling them over his shoulders, Dean's knees level with Cas's ears.

The other man shoves in none too gently, and Dean's head falls back into the pillow, blissed out with his eyes closed. Cas's thrusts are hard and unrelenting, and he's pounding Dean into the mattress, he's got him practically folded in half.

It's incredible, the rush, and the heat gathering in his belly is becoming more insistent. Dean would give anything to be able to wrap a hand around himself. "Cas, please, fucking touch me, please."

"No. You're going to come on my cock or not at all," he growls.

"Fuck!" Dean whines, but on second thought, it might not be a problem after all. He's getting really close. Dean opens his eyes, and stares up at the man above him.

What he sees alarms him, but only for a second, because Cas leans in and kisses him, hard and fierce, and Dean melts into the kiss. Fuck, there's nothing Cas isn't good at, and Dean quickly forgets and a moment later he's being swept away by one of the most powerful orgasms he's ever felt. That's all he cares about in that moment and he forgets.

He forgets the undeniable, _unnatural_, glow in Castiel's eyes.

* * *

When it's over, Cas unties and cleans Dean up and pulls the sheet over the slumbering hunter.

He brushes his fingers over Dean's brow, using his grace to suggest another lewd dream. Yes, it's definitely abuse of his angelic powers but fuck if he cares.

He hasn't cared about being an angel for a very long time.

Sam is up on the deck, standing at the wheel and happily singing to himself. Cas can feel the contentment in the younger hunter, and it radiates calmness throughout the boat.

Dean's content too, sleeping peacefully after an intense orgasm that Castiel may or may not have intensified with his grace.

Heh. More abuse of his power. Again, ask him if he cares.

He doesn't.

Things are going beautifully, and he knows Dean's not going to last much longer. He'll give in before Miami, Castiel is sure of it. There's some concern about how the brothers will react when they find out Cas is an angel, but he's not worried. He's convinced he'll be completely in their good graces by then and everything will be fine.

Making his way up to the deck, his eyes meet Sam's, and they smile at each other, Sam with a wicked twinkle in his pretty hazel eyes. The water and the late afternoon sun are reflecting in his irises, making them appear almost aqua.

Sam is gloriously beautiful and he has no idea. Tall and well built, pretty smile and cheerful demeanor, Castiel meant it when he told Sam his soul was beautiful. It glows, a soft fluttering rainbow of colors, happiness trailing after him where ever he goes.

The younger brother isn't the great big bundle of unhappiness Dean is, and that's largely because of Dean.

Dean is beautiful too, with his plush pink lips and sweet freckled skin, and his sparkling green eyes. His soul is beautiful too, but there are shadows in his aura, dark places of sadness and unnamed hurts and blame that Dean carries around his neck like a mantle.

Bobby used to tell him all the time that Dean sacrificed everything so that Sam would never want for anything. He took care of Sam from the night his mother died, and is still doing it now. With Bobby gone, Sam and Dean are alone in the world, with no one to depend on but each other.

And that is something Cas wants to change.

"So, how did it go?" Sam asks him with a grin.

"Beautifully. Almost no resistance at all. Although he thought I was you until I removed the blindfold."

"Did he enjoy it?"

"I'd say so. He's passed out now. I wore him out," Cas chuckles.

"I bet you did." Sam's quiet for a while, manning the wheel and staring out to the west, watching the sun set in the distance. "Do you think we're doing the right thing, Cas? What if he doesn't want this, and he resents us for doing it? I don't want to lose him."

"I wouldn't worry," Cas murmurs as he wraps his arms around Sam's waist. "If he wasn't interested, he would have told me no. He was saying everything but. Trust me, he enjoyed himself, and I'm sure he wants more."

"Ok," Sam says happily. "I trust you."

He leans back into Cas, and together, they watch the sun fall over the ocean.

* * *

Sometime during the night, the alcohol gets the better of his brother, and Sam finds Dean wrapped around the toilet in the tiny bathroom.

"Hey? You ok?"

"Unngh, no. Fuck," Dean mumbles as he leans forward and vomits again. Sam fetches a washcloth and runs it under cool water. He wrings it out, then lays it over the back of Dean's neck.

"Too much rum, Sammy."

"Ah, that's why the rum is always gone." Sam grins and Dean glares at him.

"Not the time for your stupid jokes moron."

"Aw, c'mon. If the situation was reversed, you'd have totally used that on me. Then you would have danced around singing about your jar of dirt."

Dean says nothing else, mainly because he's too busy throwing up.

A short time later, and Sam has Dean tucked back in bed. His brother rolls over and lays his head on his shoulder. "I feel terrible," he groans.

"Just sleep, you'll feel better in the morning." He feels Dean nod against his shoulder, and his breathing gradually evens out and slows, his body relaxing into sleep. Sam isn't far behind him, and just before he drifts off, he hears Dean mutter in his sleep.

"Yeah, Cas, just like that…_fuck_…"

Sam grins up at the ceiling and follows his brother into sleep.

* * *

The next morning, and Dean's a twitchy wreck.

It's funny, Sam thinks, watching Dean shuffle around the boat, throwing together some sort of breakfast. His eyes refuse to meet Sam's, and he's barely said two words to him all morning.

He's clearly feeling guilty about the day before and Sam wants to call him out on it, but Cas said to wait. So he's going to wait.

"Stupid boat!" Dean shrieks, yanking his hand back from the tiny galley stove.

"What happened?"

"Fucker burned me! Dammit, I fucking give up! I'm done! FUCK!" Dean hurls the egg pan into the tiny sink and disappears into the tiny bathroom.

Sam sighs heavily and moves into the galley to clean up the mess. He shuts the burner off and runs water into the scorched skillet, watching as the over-done eggs sluice off the pan and into the sink.

"What's wrong?"

Sam jumps, "Jesus, Cas! Scared the shit out of me."

"My apologies. I heard slamming and cursing and came to investigate."

There's a thud and another string of obscenities from the bathroom, followed by another thud, followed by a louder "_FUCK_!"

"Ah, our friend is out of sorts this morning."

"Yeah." Sam stops scrubbing at the pan and turns to face Cas. "Maybe we should, you know, talk to him? Tell him what we were thinking?"

"Nah."

"Nah?"

"Let him stew in his own juices for a while. I'm enjoying this."

Sam frowns. "I don't really want to torture him, Cas."

"I know," Cas smiles, "we'll see what happens today. We've still got at least two days before we reach Miami. I want to see him cave, Sam."

"I dunno…"

Cas crowds Sam against the counter. "Do you trust me?"

"What?"

"Do. You. Trust. Me?"

Fighting the urge to squirm, Sam nods, staring at the floor, trying to ignore his growing interest in Cas. The other man smirks, leaning forward, pushing Sam even closer into the counter. He gets as close to Sam as possible and whispers "good" against his lips.

Feeling his face heat, and arousal sweep through his body, Sam closes his eyes in anticipation of the kiss, but there's a strange fluttering sound, and when he opens them again, Cas is gone.

* * *

He'll hide in the bathroom all day if he has too.

He can't look Sam in the eyes. Oh fuck, he can't look _himself_ in the eyes.

Dean splashes more water on his face. His head is pounding out a disco beat with a healthy dose of knives in his eyes, and he thinks he just might hurl again. There can't be much left in there, right? He barfed all fucking night after all.

Sam was not pleased when he realized Dean had polished off an entire bottle of rum. Not pleased at all. The bitch-face he'd had to endure…yeah, he didn't need to see that again anytime soon.

He slept with Cas. Holy fucking fuck, he let Cas fuck him. Jesus Christ on a cracker, what the hell was he going to tell Sam? Here he'd thought Sam and Cas might have something going on, but no, Cas is into him!

His stomach tosses again, and Dean releases a small stream of bile into the toilet. He hears a creak outside the door as Sam leaves the cabin, and he sighs, flushes the toilet, and leaves the bathroom.

The failed breakfast has been cleaned up, the dishes washed and drying in the drainer. He snags a bottle of water from the fridge, and heads to the bedroom. It only takes a minute to locate the Tylenol, and he takes two with a swig from the bottle and then crawls back into his bed, pulling the covers up over his head.

He can hear Sam's voice through the open cabin, and Castiel's gravelly response. The music floating on the air, _Margaritaville,_ seems appropriate.

Dean rolls onto his stomach and buries his face in the pillow, trying futilely to ignore the twisting in his belly, the cramps in his gut.

God, he's drowning in guilt. It weighs on him, pushing down on his shoulders, a mantle of heavy self-loathing and he wishes desperately that he'd told Cas to go. It's not worth it, a moment's pleasure followed by a whole day of horrendous, agonizing _guilt_.

Rolling to lay on his back and kicking off the covers, Dean watches the light dance on the ceiling. The patterns are soothing and pretty to watch, and it slowly lulls him into a sleepy halfway state between awareness and unconsciousness.

His brain actually shuts off, and it's like a warm blanket being pulled over him. He feels blank, pleasantly drugged, and when he looks to his right and finds Cas there, he's not surprised or alarmed.

Cas cups his cheek, leans in for a soft kiss. Dean responds enthusiastically, opening his mouth to let the other man's tongue in, but there's nothing frantic or urgent about the kiss. It's slow and sweet, and Dean finds himself melting into it.

He pulls away slowly, the reflected light dancing in his blue eyes, and Cas smiles at Dean. "You're so beautiful. Did you know that?"

Dean just grins at him, slightly woozy and unable to form a coherent enough thought to respond. The drugged feeling is somewhat intense, it's almost a detachment, but he thinks he kind of likes it. It reminds him of high school, that one place he went somewhere out west…Colorado, maybe? Jack Josephs, the first guy he ever messed around with, shotgunning him behind the bleachers.

The older boy had dragged him out there, told him how cute he was as he lit the joint, and when Dean told him he'd never done pot before, Jack dragged him into his lap and told Dean to open his mouth and breathe in as he exhaled.

He'd felt like his head was a balloon, floating happily over his body, and Jack had gone down on him as the pot swept him away in a wave of euphoria. It'd had been the most intense orgasm he'd ever had up to that point in his young life, and Dean had never forgotten the amazing rush of it all.

How he's feeling now is something very much like that, as Cas's hands begin to wander, the press of lips against his becoming more insistent. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it occurs to him that it's happening again, that he's cheating on Sam yet again, because he isn't asleep this time- at least he doesn't think he's asleep- and he's fully aware of what he's doing, he's aware that he's kissing back and that Cas's hand is cupping him now, and he knows he should tell him to stop, but it just feels so damn good…

A noise startles him, and he jumps, eyes wide. "Sssh," Cas soothes, "it's ok. It's just Sam."

Dean blanches, panicked, tries to get out of the bed and out of Cas's grasp, but the other man is oddly strong, and doesn't allow him to leave the bed.

"I don't know why you're upset," Cas purrs, as he noses along Dean's neck, "you've nothing to be ashamed of."

"Cas," Dean whimpers, but the other man shuts him up with a kiss, hand on his dick more insistent now. It occurs to him that he doesn't remember Cas coming into the room, laying down on the bed with him, none of it. It's like the other man just _poofed_ into existence, and it's a bit unsettling…not to mention creepy.

"Cas, I shouldn't…" Dean whines, as Castiel yanks at his shorts, "not-fair-to-Sammy!" he groans as Cas swallows him down. "Oh fuck, oh fuck! Nngh, what are you doin' to me, Cas?" he mutters pathetically.

"Mmm, you like it," Cas smiles, pulling off, his fist replacing his mouth.

"But…but Sammy…" Dean whimpers.

"Sam," Cas smiles, a little chuckle trailing his brother's name, "Sam would like this. Sam wants to be a part of it."

Dean's getting closer to orgasm, his legs trembling, and he gasps out a confused "what?"

"Sam would like this. He knows, Dean. He wants to be part of this. Imagine it, the three of us together." Cas slides closer, the rhythmic pumping of his hand never ceasing, and he flicks his tongue over Dean's nipple. "Think about it, Sam fucking you, while I go down on you? Or maybe I'll fuck Sam while he fucks your mouth…or maybe you can fuck Sam while I fuck you. The possibilities are endless."

He's so close it hurts, and the images Castiel's filling his head with…it's so strange, the way he can picture everything Cas is describing, like Cas has actually planted pictures in his head.

"You've…you've –_nngghh_- talked about this?"

"Oh, Dean," Cas smirks, "yesterday, when you woke up, restrained, with my mouth on you?" Dean nods, he's right there, any second…"that was _all_ Sam's idea."

And that's it folks, a homerun, that ball's outta the park, and Dean's hips arch hard off the bed, come spurting out over his chest, coming so hard a bit splatters on his chin.

Cas leans forward and licks at his chin, cleaning him off with his tongue. "So beautiful," he murmurs softly. "You're both…just so beautiful. I could stay like this forever, with you two, out here on this boat. Forever," he repeats, a wistful softness in his voice.

"Cas?" Dean asks confusedly. Blue eyes twinkle at him in the dimness of the cabin.

"Sleep, Dean, sleep." It's not a suggestion, it's something more, and Dean wants to focus on it, take it apart and examine all of its fragments, organize it until it makes sense to him. It's such a strange feeling, the idea that Cas is something…_more_. And it sticks in his craw and pokes at something in the back of his brain, but it's so serene and warm and he's drifting, drifting like their boat on the ocean, and Dean drifts right off, into peaceful sleep.

* * *

Sam is singing along to Jimmy Buffet, completely off key and wiggling his perfect ass when Castiel comes up on deck from the cabin.

The wind has picked up in the last hour, and his chestnut locks are dancing on the breeze. There are black clouds to the south of them, Cas knows a storm is coming, but he's not worried. The boys are safe as long as he's with them.

He's an Angel of the Lord after all.

Sam gives him a sweet little grin, his face lighting up. He holds out an arm for Cas, and they stand together, each with a hand on the wheel, watching the waves. It's just after noon, and there's nothing between them and Miami but water.

Cas stands on his tip toes, and kisses Sam on the cheek, then moves out from under his arm to check the sails. Everything looks good, hell, it looks perfect, and he stands at the prow, turning back to watch Sam, who looks completely in his element, wearing nothing but a low slung pair of swim trunks, his skin gloriously sun-kissed, even some lighter streaks in his hair.

The Winchester brothers. He's gone on both of them. He's never felt so utterly taken in by a human, let alone two, before. There's just something about them.

"You got things under control, Sam?"

The younger man grins, "Yup. Just keep on this heading, right?"

"Yes. I'm going to meditate."

"You do that," Sam replies with a hot little wink. Cas nods, and sits on the roof of the cabin, legs carefully folded into the lotus position. He closes his eyes and thinks.

Below him, Dean's sleeping off the last of his hangover. He rather likes the sort of drugged stated he pushed Dean into earlier to shut off the man's stressed out guilt trip. He's peaceful now, Cas having released him from the sexy dreams. He's dreaming of fishing, of sitting on the end of a pier on a peaceful lake, fishing rod in hand and beer in a cooler at his side.

It's very pretty. The water is a deep green color, and surrounded by trees in the middle of their autumn transition. Oranges, reds, and yellows dance in the reflections on the water.

Dean sighs happily, leaning back in the chair. Cas smiles at him, unseen, and leaves the man to his dreams.

Behind him, he can feel Sam's contentment radiating across the boat. He's happy, at peace, he's thinking about how grateful he is to Bobby, leaving them this boat. It's been years since Dean slowed down, allowing them to stop for a while, to not hunt, to just _be_.

This right here? This is heaven to Sam. He's with Dean, which is generally the only thing he worries about, and they're not in danger, they're not eating crappy diner food and sleeping in shitty motels at night. They're actually having fun, they're actually relaxing, and Sam lets a wistful thought slip, a wish that they might be able to do this more often.

Cas smiles up at the sky, with his eyes closed and the sun on his face.

He'd laughed at Gabriel, when his brother announced he was leaving Heaven for humanity, couldn't understand the appeal, what Gabe could possibly see in, as Lucifer and Uriel often called them, the _little hairless apes. _

But after Cas himself spent some time on Earth, watching humans eat, grow, change, fornicate, go about their business, make decisions, conquer their fears and doubts, he found it harder and harder to return to Heaven, to follow orders, to be the good little soldier. He stayed on Earth a little longer each time.

He realized there was nothing left for him.

He couldn't just obey. He couldn't just be that perfect little soldier anymore.

And after he discovered things like alcohol, incredible food, and sex…well, making the decision was easy.

Castiel hadn't so much fallen as sauntered vaguely downward.

Earth is his home now. And as long as he doesn't cause problems, Heaven leaves him alone.

* * *

As the afternoon rolls into evening, Dean finally deigns to emerge from the cabin, blinking in the grey light, gratefully taking the aviators Sam hands him.

There's a sulky little look on his face, and he's a bit green. There's definitely a storm rolling in, and Dean is already starting to pay the price of the increased movement. He settles onto the roof of the cabin, leaning back against Sam and clutching his arms around his midsection.

Sam kisses his temple and wraps his arms around him.

"Not feeling good?"

"Would be if the boat would hold still, dammit."

"I'm sorry. I'm making chicken and rice for dinner. You should be able to keep that down. And no more alcohol tonight, if this storm is going to get worse, that's the last thing you need."

Dean nods, snuggling back into him. The only good thing about Dean not feeling well is that he becomes an absolute cuddle slut. And Sam is all about that. He so rarely gets this at all.

It's getting a bit chilly on the deck, the wind is picking up, and he smiles up at Cas when he drops a fleece blanket off on his way back to the wheel. Sam unfolds it and wraps it around Dean, who's leaning around him, staring at Cas.

The look on his face is strange. It's not hostile, or suspicious, it's more…contemplative.

"What?" Sam asks him quietly. Dean startles, seems alarmed that Sam caught him looking.

"Nothing."

"Hmm". _Oh no_, Sam thinks, _you're not getting away with this Dean-o_. "Cas is pretty hot, huh?"

Dean looks up at him, green eyes wide. "Uh. I um, I guess."

"I think he's pretty hot."

"Yeah." Dean says sadly. "I guess you do." He squirms a bit, but Sam wraps his arms tighter.

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you think he's hot?"

"Yeah I guess. He's not bad."

"Mmm, liar," Sam whispers in his ear. "You'd like to hit that. Admit it." Dean's jaw drops in shock and Sam bites his tongue to keep from laughing. "I'd like to hit that with you."

The noise his brother makes is indescribable, but after that, it's silence. And it stays that way for the rest of the night. Through dinner, through beers on the deck as the storm picks up, through changing for the night and crawling into bed, Dean is silent.

He spends a lot of time staring at both him and Castiel, the looks on his face fluctuating from disbelieving to pensive, from slight discomfort to outright arousal. He can only imagine the turmoil of thought running through Dean's head, and so many times over the course of the evening, Sam finds himself having to choke down a laugh.

He and Cas agreed, they'd let Dean come to them, they'd let Dean initiate anything that might happen, but watching him rattle himself apart with nerves is almost too much.

Nothing happens that night, and it's a very restless Dean that crawls into bed with him, tossing and turning and shifting around, and Sam stares up at the ceiling, frustrated and annoyed, a feeling that persists until he finally passes out.

* * *

They wake up to rain and wind and the boat rocking harder than normal, which sets Dean off on another round of seasickness. Sam finds him at the toilet again that morning, painful dry heaves wracking his brother's body.

"Please kill me now," Dean mumbles, before turning his head back to the toilet, another round of dry heaves shaking his frame.

"Shit. You're a mess. C'mon, let's get you back in bed, it's not like you're gonna bring anything else up at this point."

Dean groans as Sam pulls him to his feet, his arm wrapped tight around his midsection. Sam drops him onto the bed, and reaches down and pulls the trashcan closer. His brother groans again as Sam covers him with the blanket.

"Tell the boat to stay still," Dean whines, pulling the covers over his head.

"Wish I could. I'm gonna go talk to Cas, find out what's going on." Sam pats Dean's blanket covered ass. "Rest up, ok?"

Dean grunts an affirmative, and Sam pulls a yellow rain slicker off a hook. It doesn't really fit, and he knows he probably looks ridiculous. As he steps out onto the deck, the boat lurches slightly, and he almost loses his footing on the slick wood.

"Cas?" he calls, squinting into the rain. The captain is standing at the wheel, trenchcoat buttoned and soaked with rain, absurd yellow slicker hat smashed down over his dreadlocks.

"Sam. Running into some bad weather," Cas shouts over the sound of the sails snapping.

"No kidding." Sam yells back, his words mostly lost in the wind.

"If it gets any worse, we're going to have to reef the sails."

"What does that mean again?"

"It means we're going to reduce the sail area by rolling surplus material on the forestay." Cas's voice is steady despite his dead man's grip on the wheel, and Sam feels reassured by the man's confidence.

"I didn't know they were calling for storms."

"It's not a storm, Sam, it's a hurricane." Cas says calmly, like he's discussing a grocery list.

"What?! A hurricane? In December? Seriously?"

"Yes. It's late season, but here just the same. We'll be fine. It's just some wind and rain."

Sam stares at him in disbelief. "It's a motherfucking _hurricane_!" Cas looks at him blandly.

"We're in the middle of the Atlantic fuckin' Ocean, my brother's sick as shit from the waves, and you're just like _'it's just a hurricane'_, I mean seriously, what the hell, how are you so fucking calm about this? We could die!"

"We're not going to die," Cas states calmly. "I know what I'm doing."

"Well, I'm damn glad you do, because I don't, and Dean's pretty much useless right now."

"Sam. Trust me. We will be ok."

A waves washes up over the deck, and Sam loses his footing, going down hard and sliding across the deck on his ass. "Fuck!"

Cas reaches down with one arm, and with a movement that seems stronger than a man his size and build should be able to produce, yanks Sam back to his feet. "Maybe the storm's a little stronger than I thought."

Sam just stares at him in disbelief. "Ya think?" he grumbles sarcastically.

"Let's go ahead and reef the sails, just to be safe. Then we'll secure everything below."

"What's going on?" A weak voice yells across the noise. Dean's pulled himself from the cabin and is clinging to the rail running along the roof.

"Dean, go back down below, we've got this!" Sam yells, heading for the forestay to help Cas reef the sails. His brother nods, really too sick to be of much help, and as he's turning to make his way back down below, a mighty wave sweeps across the deck.

Sam grabs the forestay and clings with all his might, desperately trying to keep his footing. The water is cold, and strong, and it takes every ounce of strength Sam has to hold on. It seems like a lifetime before the water recedes, but when it does, his worst fears are realized.

Cas is gone.

Dean is gone.

He calls out for both of them, frantic, but it's to no avail. The furiously tossing waves mock him, fear settling like a rock in the pit of his stomach.

Oh god. They're gone. They're both gone.

He's alone.


	3. If We Couldn't Laugh, We Would All Go

He's drowning.

Oh god. No. He's not ready.

_Sammy._

Dean can't tell up from down, everything is black, and his lungs are on fire.

This is it. He's dying, he can't hold his breath anymore, and seawater fills his lungs. The pain stops then, what's left of his vision is dimming, he's dying and it doesn't hurt, and he's a hunter, could have died a million different agonizing ways, so as far as death goes, this isn't so bad.

He just wishes he could say goodbye to Sam.

A strange bright blue light blinds him, and he closes his eyes against it. He can hear the last few beats of his heart, and as he gives in and slips away, an iron grip closes on his left bicep.

* * *

Sam is losing his mind.

This isn't happening, Dean can't be gone, he can't have lost him just like that.

And Cas is gone too.

God, this isn't happening.

He's sobbing, his tears mixing with the rain beating against his face. Sam slumps into a heap in the middle of the deck, out of his mind with grief. He doesn't know what to do, and for a moment, he considers jumping in after them, letting the waves carry him away too.

There's that weird fluttering sound again and next thing he knows, a drenched and lifeless Dean is dropped in his lap.

"Dean! Dean!" He reacts instantly, without stopping to consider how Dean got there, just turns his brother's blue face towards his own.

Dean's not breathing, he's not moving, and Sam searches frantically for a pulse, finding nothing. "No, no, no, dammit, no!"

"Sam!"

He looks up, surprised to find Cas standing over them, a steely look on his face. He crouches next to them, reaching out to cup Sam's face. "It'll be ok," he says softly.

He reaches out with two fingers, Sam watching bewilderedly, as Cas touches Dean's forehead. The fingers slide down Dean's face, Cas gradually cupping Dean's cheek with his whole palm.

Color rushes back in, the blue vanishing quickly, and Dean sucks in a harsh breath. His eyes flutter open, staring at Sam and Cas, and he sits up abruptly.

"What? What's going on?" he asks confusedly. Sam's jaw drops, and he stares at Cas, fear lodging in the pit of his stomach.

This isn't normal, this isn't ok.

"What are you?" he asks Cas quietly, afraid of the answer. Dean's shaking in his arms, cold from the seawater and the wind.

Cas sighs, looks away as he stands. There's a flash of lightening, and for a moment, Sam can make out the shadows of what look like a massive set of wings.

Cas looks resigned, as he growls, "I'm Castiel. I'm an Angel of the Lord."

* * *

The boat tosses in the storm, and below deck, Dean clings to Sam.

Cas has secured everything, and sent them below, using his angel mojo to seal the cabin door.

The brothers are lying on the bed, and for once, Dean isn't shying away from the comfort Sam's giving, and he knows Sam needs to reassure himself that Dean's ok, hence the octopus grip.

Neither one of them are dealing with the situation very well. There's a sense of betrayal, anger, and disbelief at Cas's revelation.

The boat shudders, and Dean presses closer into Sam. He can't get warm. He's freezing, and neither the arms wrapped firmly around him, or the two heavy blankets Sam has him swaddled in, are doing anything for the cold making him shiver. He just can't get warm.

The waves are still violently tossing the boat, but there's nothing left in Dean to vomit out, so he holds tight to Sam, just the occasional dry heave wracking his frame.

Sam rubs his back, murmurs "its ok, its ok," but Dean simply cannot stop shaking.

He remembers. He remembers the wave sweeping over the boat, the feeling of weightlessness and helplessness, of being swept out, the reassuring solidity of the wooden deck being yanked out from under his feet. He remembers the finality of taking that last breath, of his lungs filling with water, and knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was going to die.

He remembers dying.

And there's a snippet, like a warm dream, of being in a field with a very young Sam, setting off fireworks, the Fourth of July they set the field on fire, it's peaceful and Dean wonders, was that Heaven? Had he died and actually gone to Heaven?

Funny, he'd always thought he'd end up in the other place.

Especially now.

Now that he's managed to corrupt an actual, bona fide, wing-wearing, Angel of the motherfuckin' Lord.

Huh, better drop the _motherfuckin'_. Although at this point, he's likely so fucked in God's eyes that it probably doesn't matter anymore.

Sam seems to read his thoughts as he mutters quietly, "I didn't know either, Dean. I had no idea."

"Yeah, but you're not the one…"

"I messed around with him too. It wasn't just you. And the whole threesome thing? I wasn't discouraging it, I gave him the idea about tying you up and oh god, this is my fault, all of this is my fault and we're going to hell, we've corrupted an Angel for holy shit's sake, and if that doesn't send us to hell, I mean jeez, we've done bad stuff in the past but this just really takes the cake…"

"Sam, stop. You're rambling. Seriously. An English teacher would have flunked your ass for that run-on sentence."

Sam sighs, tightens his already tight grip on Dean.

"I dunno, Sammy. I think we really did screw up this time. There's no way we're getting away with this."

"Cas says…"

"And how much can we trust Cas? He's been lying to us this entire time! He probably knows everything about us, knows who we are, knows what we do, but no, he lets us think he's a human, let us just…dammit Sammy, this is so fucked up I don't even know what to do about it, what to think, nothing!" He shivers violently again. "And why the fuck can't I get warm?!"

"I don't know, Dean. I don't know anything. At this point, I just want to get this boat to Miami and go home."

"If he lets us go home. What if he's been misdirecting us this whole damn time and plans to starve us out here on the ocean? He's a supernatural sonuvabitch and we can't trust him!"

"If he wanted us dead, he would have left you to drown. He saved you and he's protecting us now."

"I'm tellin' you Sammy, you can't trust him. You know better. Can't trust anyone but each other and sure as hell can't trust no stupid angel."

Sam says nothing further, just holds him close as the boat rocks hard in the storm.

Unseen to them, Cas observes quietly, a sorrowful expression on his face.

* * *

It takes them a day and half to get the rest of the way to Miami.

Sam does his best to be polite and friendly to Cas, trying to keep from showing just how terrified he is of the other man-_angel_-now. He's pretty sure Cas picks up on it anyway, always watching after him with a dejected expression on his face.

Dean spends the entire time hiding in the cabin and drinking what's left of their store of alcohol. He's passed out cold when they pull into port. Sam spent the night before packing all of their things and wiping down the cabin, making the boat as clean as possible.

Towards the end of the evening, when the storm had settled to a light breeze and soft drizzle, Sam had gone to Cas, to speak with him, ask him questions, but the words wouldn't come, and eventually, he'd slunk back into the cabin.

The engine shuts off, the vibrations finally stop, and Sam goes topside again. He wordlessly helps Cas with the ropes, securing the boat to the pier.

Two days later, they're back in Sioux Falls, $15,000 richer. It doesn't seem like nearly enough, but the boat was apparently in pretty terrible shape. He's honestly convinced that the broker gave them that much simply because he felt sorry for the big guy with the puppy dog eyes and the shorter dude with the thousand mile stare.

Dean's on the couch, Bobby's couch, and the weight of the grief they'd been ignoring is painfully present now.

Bobby had been everything to them, more of a father than John Winchester had ever been. And now, they're here, in what they still consider to be Bobby's home, and it just feels wrong.

Just as wrong as it felt to leave Castiel behind on that pier, looking completely lost in his overlarge trenchcoat. "Pray to me, if you ever need anything, anything at all, and I'll be there," he'd said quietly, as they walked away, and Sam had turned back once, just before he and Dean reached the rental car, and he'd have sworn there were tears in the angel's eyes just before he disappeared into the ether, the strange fluttering sound following him. It was then that Sam realized that was the sound of his wings.

He's been unsettled ever since. Sam misses Cas, misses him terribly. He'd grown completely attached to him in just a few short days, and now, it feels like something's missing. Like there's a hole in his life.

And Dean?

Something's wrong with his brother. Dean's staring into the fireplace like it holds all the answers, like if he stares long enough, he'll receive some sort of divine direction. He's never seen his brother look so lost.

And the thing is, Sam's not sure what the problem is, if it's the loss of Bobby, the loss of Castiel, or his near-death experience, or all of those thing combined, but the one thing he does know for sure is that he doesn't know how to fix it. He doesn't know how to make his brother smile again.

So he just throws another log on the fire, pours Dean another cup of coffee that he probably won't drink, stirs the soup his brother likely won't eat, and wraps another blanket around him.

He waits for day to turn to night and for his brother to come back to him.

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

They're getting settled in, Dean thinks. Maybe. It's been a little rough but…anyway.

He doesn't miss hunting. Not even a little bit. Maybe he's just outgrown it. Sam's looking at college again, local places in Sioux Falls. Dean's already hired an accountant, a sassy little red head named Charlie Bradbury, to help him figure out how to manage the money Bobby left them.

She's become an instant friend, and Dean's hired her to run the books for the salvage yard as well, which he's decided to turn into an auto repair shop. It's what he's good at after all. His baby is proof of that, he thinks, running an affectionate hand down the Impala's rear fender.

They've invested most of the money, set aside a chunk to live on until the shop turns a profit, and used another small chunk to make some necessary repairs on the house and to purchase a huge king size bed for their bedroom. Dean wants to put in a hot tub eventually.

He's starting to feel like himself again, but he still misses Cas. A lot. And he wasn't expecting to feel this way. Sam should be enough for him, hell, Sam should be _more_ than enough!

But he can't help it. He thinks about the angel all the time. He's considered it, praying, calling out for Cas, just to see him again, just to look into those pretty blue eyes again…

_Stop it_, he tells himself. _This isn't doing you any good. You're not doing yourself any favors here, Winchester._

Charlie's in the living room when he goes back into the house, big grin on her face. "Guess what, boss?" she calls happily, looking up from her ever-present tablet. "That offshore investment I put the $600k in? It hit a major windfall this morning, and you guys did very nicely."

"How nicely?" Sam asks excitedly. "We make a couple grand?"

"A couple grand?" Charlie scoffs. "No dude. Not a couple grand. Like a couple _million_. You guys have about 3.5 million bucks sitting in there right now."

Sam's eyes widen. "Charlie. That…that cannot be possible." He looks like he might faint, and Dean's heart is pounding too.

"Charlie? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Oh wait…" she taps something else on the tablet. "Nope, it's real. You had an anonymous donor drop some coin in there, about 400k, then the investment tripled. It's odd, but it's not out of the realm of possibility, but I swear, it's like you guys are touched by angels or something."

Sam's wide eyes meet his over Charlie's head, and Sam silently mouthes, "Cas".

"I mean, you'll never have to work again, either one of you, you can literally spend the rest of your life fucking off!" Charlie burbles contentedly.

Dean nods. His eyes are filling with tears as he realizes what he's done.

Cas loved them. Loved them with every ounce of his angelic being.

And they sent him away.

* * *

Dean lasts another week.

"Cas," he whispers softly, standing amongst the cars in the salvage yard, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I miss you. Please come back. Please…"

* * *

Sam's changing the sheets on their bed, just finishing the job, when he caves.

"Cas, we screwed up. I miss you. Dean misses you. Please come back. Please…"

* * *

The angel doesn't show. December turns into January and January turns into February. Dean's birthday passes without fanfare. It's been eight weeks since they last saw Cas.

Sam's staring out the window, watching fat snowflakes drift down, making snow covered mountains of the cars in the yard. He's aimlessly stirring a spoon in a congealing bowl of oatmeal, his elbow on the table, chin resting in his hand. There are circles under his eyes, Dean knows he hasn't been sleeping well.

Dean hasn't been sleeping that well either.

Cas must be really fucking pissed with them. Or he's written them off.

Still, there's the insane amount of money sitting in their joint bank account. Close to four mil, and neither one of them know what the hell they're supposed to do with it. Sam's suggested completely renovating the house, modern, up-to-date everything, and there's kitchen cabinet and bath fixture brochures lying around the living room.

Charlie suggested taking two million of it and reinvesting and seeing if lighting strikes twice.

Dean bought her a new computer just for being awesome.

Dean doesn't care. He's never developed a taste for expensive things, even though growing up on the road, they never had anything, and he supposes that should make someone want _everything_. But he doesn't. All he really wants is Sam. And if he's being honest, Cas.

It's his fault. He's the one that shut down, he's the one that wanted nothing to do with the angel. Sam was willing to talk, to try and explain things to Cas, but Dean had been adamant.

Dean sighs, and Sam doesn't even look up. He grabs a coat and lets himself out of the house, boots crunching through the snow as he stomps his way out to the garage.

He knows he screwed up. But he doesn't know how to fix it. He's prayed to Cas so many times, poured his heart out, apologized every way he could think of, but the angel has remained silent.

Leaning on Bobby's old Chevelle, he wonders what the man would say to him if he was there. Likely, he'd slap Dean over the back of his head and call him an idiot.

This makes Dean laugh, and he can see Bobby's face in his mind's eye, can hear the old man's voice growling _idjit_ at him. The laughter turns to tears, god, he misses Bobby so much, which in turn makes him miss Cas, and he slides down the fender of the Chevelle, his butt coming to rest on the ground, his head against the rusty and primer grey metal.

"I'm sorry, Cas," he says quietly into the falling snow.

He feels like such a failure.

* * *

Another day, more snow, and Sam's getting desperate.

There's a chasm growing between him and Dean. Neither one of them are happy, but Dean's just bound and determined to take all the blame on himself. Sam's not even sure what Dean's blaming himself for. It could be Cas leaving or Bobby's death, he doesn't know.

He does know that he misses Castiel more than he can even begin to put into words, and he acknowledges that he's in love with Cas as much as he is with Dean. It hurts. It hurts and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

And on top of that painful conclusion, at some point in the last four and half weeks, Sam realized that neither one of them had taken the time to grieve Bobby's death. And they're both feeling it now. Living in the man's house, using his things and furniture, it's surreal. So many times, Sam will lean back in a chair while reading a book, and he can hear the man's voice, _four feet on the floor, Sam!_

At night, they lay in their new bed together, Sam on one side, Dean on the other. They don't touch. They don't talk. It's cold and lonely, and it's all they have.

Dean's going to run. Sam sees it in the way he stares at the Impala, his eyes sweeping over her curves, and the way he's constantly checking the oil and tire pressure. Even if Dean hasn't realized it yet, Sam has. His brother's going to run.

It's such a change from all those years ago, when Sam wanted out, when Sam ran, leaving Dean behind for Stanford, and eventually, Jess.

They're rich as fuck, literal millions in the bank, and they are miserable.

He guesses it's true. Money doesn't buy happiness.

Standing at the window, he watches as Dean shovels a path from the house to the garage, angrily flinging clumps of snow off the shovel like it's personally offended him.

He's right there, right in front of him, and Sam's never felt lonelier for his brother. And that's just compounded by his loneliness for Cas.

"Please come back, Cas. Please," he whispers for the thousandth time, waiting for the sound of wings that never come.

* * *

They're sitting on the couch, Valentine's Day.

Dean officially hates this holiday. He bought Sam roses. Fucking roses. His brother had looked at him like he'd grown another head. Sam had bought him a nice watch.

God, he's an idiot. A total and complete idiot. Who brings another dude flowers, seriously? Just, they were so pretty, and not red, like an orangey color, with yellow at the base of each petal, and it reminded him of sunsets over the ocean.

When they were on the boat.

Before he fucked everything up.

Sam took them, bewilderment in his face, and silently handed over the watch box. They didn't go out, too damn much snow, and Dean's well on his way to getting drunk.

His brother puts another log on the fire, disappears into the kitchen for a long minute, then comes back with a vase in his hands, the roses artfully arranged inside. He sits them on the coffee table, smiles at Dean, and sits back down, a little closer this time.

Something warm is attempting to thaw his frozen heart, and he reaches across the couch, his hand seeking Sam's. His brother turns to him, reaches down and takes Dean's hand, then closes the distance between them.

"I think it's time we ended this losing streak, don't you?" he asks huskily. Dean nods his agreement.

The first kiss is slightly awkward, they're a bit out of practice, but it comes back quickly. Sam's hand wraps around Dean's neck and pulls him closer. The kisses are sweet, water to a dying man, and Dean feels like he can finally breathe. He clambers into Sam's lap, straddling him, smiling into the kiss when Sam yanks on his thighs and pulls him closer.

The kisses become deeper, more passionate, and Dean's really getting turned on.

"They are truly lovely blooms," a gravelly voice growls next to him.

Dean jumps six feet in the air, tumbling off the couch and onto his ass, and Sam makes some bizarre shrieking sound as he stumbles to his feet.

"Happy Saint Valentine's Day." Castiel is sitting in the middle of the couch, looking completely unflustered…and completely different.

The speedo is gone, replaced by a black suit and white shirt, and a rumbled, backwards blue tie. He still has the trenchcoat, but the dreads are gone as well, his hair cut into a tousled, sexy mess on his head. He reaches forward, plucking one of the roses from the vase, bringing it to his nose and breathing in the scent. "Beautiful," he murmurs.

Dean just stares, his jaw agape. His brother reaches down, offering a hand and Dean pulls himself to his feet. Sam finds his voice first, barely, and stammers out "you're- you're here!"

"Yes, I am," Cas smiles blandly at them.

"B-but I've been praying, Cas, for w-weeks!" Dean stutters.

Sam stares at him in surprise."You've been praying? I have too!"

"Yes, I heard you." Cas is still examining the flower, slender fingers gently spreading the petals.

"Why didn't you come?" Dean asks quietly. Cas sighs, and sets the flower back in the vase.

"You two weren't talking. Weren't touching. You'd forgotten each other. I was going to wait until you figured it out, fixed your own relationship. I didn't want to interfere. But yesterday…you both called out to me, both sounding so sad. I finished my business and here I am. What do you want?"

Sam wrings his hands, gives Dean a Look.

"Uh-h," Dean mutters intelligently. Sam huffs. They both start talking over the other, words tumbling out of their mouths.

"Look, we're sorry, Cas, really sorry, and we never should have sent you away, but we were scared, and didn't know what to do…"

"…and we know about the money, jeez, Cas, that was amazing…"

"…and we're just so damn sorry, want to make it up to you…"

"…want you to stay, Cas, seriously." Dean's voice breaks, "don't go. Please, Cas."

Castiel stares at both of them, blue eyes stern, and Dean deflates, his eyes downcast. A hand on his chin has him looking up again, into Cas's eyes, all the sternness gone and nothing but a soft twinkle left behind. He leans forward and kisses Dean sweetly, just a chaste press of lips. "I forgive you," he whispers. He reaches out a hand for Sam, pulling him in as well, kissing Sam just as sweetly. "I forgive both of you. And of course I'll stay. For as long as you'll have me."

Sam smiles, tears sparkling in his eyes, and they all crowd in closer, and Dean finds himself squished into a three-way hug. The last of the ice thaws from his heart, and suddenly, the whole world feels a little bit warmer.

Cas pulls back slightly, reaching up to cup Dean's neck, pulling him down into another kiss. But this one isn't chaste. It's forceful, the angel's tongue demanding entrance. When they break apart, Dean looks on as Cas turns and does the same to Sam. When they separate, the three of them stand there, staring at each other.

Then it's like a match is lit, clothes are being tugged at, belts loosened, the trenchcoat hits the floor, there's hands on Dean's waist, hands in his hair, and Cas growls "wait", and a moment later, they're all naked and sprawled in the big bed in Sam and Dean's room.

"Ok, I officially love angel mojo," Sam says happily. He rolls over and randomly blows a raspberry on Dean's tummy.

"Cut it out, Sasquatch," Dean giggles. Cas's hands are busy, sweeping up his legs, brushing along the fine hairs.

"You've been very patient with us, haven't you, Dean? All that time Sam and I were tormenting you, teasing you…you were very patient. I think he deserves a reward, don't you Sam?"

"Mmm," Sam hums. He lays his head on his brother's stomach and smiles up at him. "Watcha have in mind, Cas?"

"Maybe we should ask him."

Dean cheeks flush bright red, he can feel the heat building under his skin. It's always been alarming enough to deal with Sam-the-dominating-sex-god, but now he's got Cas-the-dominating-sex-_angel_ to contend with as well.

"Nope," Sam growls, "I don't think he gets a choice. I think we should use him however we want."

"I could get onboard with that."

Dean squirms, arousal burning like flames in his belly, "shit, you guys are killin' me here."

"On your knees, Dean," Cas says in a voice like sin, "And we'll find something to use you for."

He shudders, that voice just does something to him, and then Sam chuckles, a low, dirty thing. "Yeah, baby, get up on your knees." His eyes are narrowed, and there's an evil grin on his face. "We're gonna wreck you, Dean. Gonna destroy you."

"Holy fuck," Dean murmurs. He vaguely remembers dreaming of Sam saying that to him. And apparently, he's not moving fast enough, because Sam flips him with his big hands and then Cas yanks him up on his knees.

"Gonna make this so good for you, Dean. Gonna make you scream. Aren't we Cas? Gonna do some of those things we talked about on the boat? Oh Dean," Sam grins, "we used to talk about you all the time. Talk about all the ways we were going to take you apart…"

"…mmm, and all the ways we're going to use you…"

"…going to make you fall apart, make you scream, make you beg…"

"…and you're going to love every minute of it, going to beg us for more…"

Dean gasps, as Cas's fingers brush over his entrance. "Oh fuck, guys, fuck."

"We'll get there." Cas punctuates that statement with a brush of his tongue over Dean's hole.

"Jesus, Cas!"

Cas chuckles again, then roughly spreads Dean's cheeks and stabs his tongue into his ass. He pushes in past the tight ring of muscle, then he slides a finger in alongside his tongue. Sam is moving too, sliding around to line himself up with Dean's mouth, and he doesn't even give his brother a chance to get used to the idea, just shoves Dean's head down on his dick.

Oh fuck, he's got Cas's mouth on his ass and Sam's dick in his mouth. It's too much, as Sam grabs his head by the ears, pulls him up and slams him back down onto his dick. Cas is fucking him with his tongue and fingers and Sam is fucking his mouth and he's seriously about to completely fall apart.

Dean's orgasm comes from out of nowhere, and he'd scream if his mouth wasn't full of Sam's dick, but all he can really do is let out a muffled whimper as he shoots all over the sheets.

"Well," Cas chortles, "that didn't take long."

"Fuck, Cas, have you felt his mouth? I mean, Christ, his mouth. We should switch. Let me fuck him, you get up here."

It's so hot, the way they're treating him like a fucktoy. Dean's always been aware that he has some extremely submissive traits, at least when it comes to sex, and this is like a dream come true to him.

Actually…it is a dream come true. One he dreamt many times out on the boat.

Sam and Cas agree to switch places, and it's not long before Sam is slamming into his ass, and Cas is fucking his mouth. Dean can't do much of anything except hang on for the ride, moaning around Cas's dick, his ass clenching around Sam's. It's incredible, he's lost in sensation, Cas yanking hard on his hair, Sam slapping his ass as he fucks him, hard and rough.

He feels like he's about to come again, that incredible heat building in his belly, the rush, every nerve in him centering in his groin, and Sam and Cas are crushing him between them, leaning over his back to kiss, he can hear the wet sound of them attacking each other's mouths.

Dean groans around the dick in his mouth, and that seems to do it for Cas, and he grunts and blows his load down Dean's throat with a heavy twitch. He pulls out, the excess dripping out of Dean's mouth. He runs his hands through Dean's hair, lifting his chin to smile at him, evil twinkle in gorgeous blue eyes.

"Sam. I want to try something."

"Yeah?" Sam pants. He slows his rhythm, fucking into Dean with gentler, more leisurely strokes. "Whatcha got in mind?"

"Pull out and lay on your back."

Sam complies, stretching out on the pillows, looking mighty damn pleased with himself.

"Dean, lay beside him."

Dean does as he's told as well, a little confused.

"Now. You know I'm an angel, and being an angel comes with certain…_perks_." Cas kneels in the center of the bed, Sam to his right and Dean to his left. "Perks like…this." He crooks his index and middle fingers on both hands, and Dean feels an incredible pressure inside of him…it's like fingers on his prostate, but no one's touching him.

Sam moans beside him, then looks up at Cas and whispers "holy fuck."

"That's my grace, boys. And I'm going to make both of you come without even touching you." He does the fingers thing again, and both of them arch off the bed with simultaneous groans.

It's like invisible fingers, and an invisible mouth, and it's taking him apart. The tendrils of Cas's grace wrap unseen around his dick, jerking him slowly. There's more pressure in his ass, god, it feels like getting fucked, and Cas is just sitting there, on the end of the bed, his face serene.

Sam cries out beside him, hips arching of the bed, his hand grabbing Dean's. He rolls slightly, reaching out and grabbing Dean's head with his other hand, pulling him in and sticking his tongue down his throat.

"That's it," Cas murmurs, "touch each other."

His brother rolls over the rest of the way, taking Dean's face between his hands and kissing him silly.

Dean can't breathe. He's falling apart. Sam's fucking his mouth with his tongue, Cas is fucking him with his grace, he's going to fucking die, it's just too much, it's too good, fuck he's dying, he's fucking dying.

He comes screaming and begging, just like he knows Cas wants him to, and Sam's right behind, only he goes cursing and yelling.

When it's over, and they're both gasping, Cas leans forward and kisses them both. A wink, and they're all clean of sweat and come.

"Huh," Sam gasps, "sleeping with an Angel _does_ have it's perks." He leans back into the pillows, relaxing, hand randomly petting Dean's hair.

Dean's still panting, and shaking, overwhelmed by the most powerful orgasm he's ever had.

"You know we want you to stay forever, right?" Sam asks quietly.

"Yeah," Dean agrees, pulling the angel down between them, "forever."

"Forever's good with me," Cas smiles, his blue eyes twinkling.

* * *

Later that evening, when they're all spent and exhausted, a pile of naked limbs in the big bed, Dean finally has a moment to reflect on the day's events.

He's leaning up against the headboard, propped in the pillows. Sam is snuggled in on his left side, tracing absent patterns across his belly, while Dean cards his fingers through his long hair. Cas is on his right, one leg lazily tossed over Dean's, his head on his shoulder. He keeps reaching across Dean's chest to pet Sam, his other hand wrapped around Dean's. They're all warm, buried under fluffy down comforters, warmth spreading from the skin-to-skin-to-skin contact.

He's completely done, there were multiple rounds and multiple orgasms, and being with an angel is the absolute shit, the instant refractory time for one (jeez, all Cas had to do was touch him and he was hard and ready to go again), but also because Cas mojo'd him a whole pie when he complained of being hungry earlier.

Dean's sore, but in the best way possible, thoroughly fucked out by his brother and his angel, and he's tired, just about on that edge of dropping off.

For once, Bobby's house doesn't feel too big or too empty, the bed doesn't seem like an uncrossable divide anymore.

He thinks about renovating the house, combining the three upstairs rooms into one big suite, with a massive bathroom and one of those giant tubs that can seat four people. Tearing out the kitchen, making it bigger and brighter with one of those industrial stoves, teaching Cas and Sam how to make pie and really good burgers, maybe building one of those outdoor kitchens, maybe putting in a pool…

He's daydreaming about asking Cas if he wants to plant a vegetable garden and some flower beds in the spring when it hits him.

Fuck it all, he's happy. Dean Winchester is motherfucking _happy_!

He smiles into the dark room, yawns as he feels Sam drop off beside him. Cas reaches up, kisses him softly, and whispers "sleep, my love."

So he does.

* * *

It's summer, Fourth of July to be exact, when Cas finally gets around to mentioning that he'd actually kept the boat and that the fifteen grand the dealer gave them was from him.

Apparently, an angel that's spent several centuries on Earth can rack up some pretty heavy duty coin.

And that's how Dean finds himself driving his baby down to Key West with Sam at shotgun and Cas rotating between sitting in the back or occasionally between them. They pick up several packages of Dramamine along the way and Cas mojos his dreads back somewhere between Sioux Falls and Key West.

A few days later, when Dean has his hands wrapped in them as Cas swallows him down and Sam fucks into him from behind, the gentle motion of the ocean rocking their boat, Dean realizes keeping the '_assy dy'_ was a very good idea. A very good idea indeed, he thinks, as his brain shorts out and he comes in Cas's mouth.

Fuck. Jimmy Buffet had it right all along.

~Fin~


End file.
